


The Girl with the Voice

by massivelyattacked



Series: The Girl with the Voice [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 47,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/massivelyattacked/pseuds/massivelyattacked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of interconnected one shots and snapshots of the Dovahkiin from the perspective of traveling companions, friends, lovers and those who attempted to cross her.</p><p>Originally posted at www.fanfiction.net; slowly bringing the story over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Onmund

_By the nine…seven thousand steps…_

No one lied when they described the journey to High Hrothgar. Onmund wasn't quite sure how he had gotten himself involved in this journey. But he suspected that she'd have gone alone had he not accompanied her.

_Curse this hard-headed Breton!_

Marieka had found herself in trouble no matter where she turned. But he'd have followed her to the ends of the nine holds and beyond. When they'd first met at the College of Winterhold, she took an almost abnormal interest in her fellow apprentices, including Onmund. He'd not met many Bretons in his travels. She certainly was his complete opposite in so many ways…Nords didn't normally embrace the use of magic, but Bretons did. And she undoubtedly had the natural affinity for the arcane that her people possessed. His blood made him stronger…taller than her – he towered over her. Gods…most Nord _women_ towered over her. As well as Orcs, Khajiit, Argonians, Redguards and most elves. She was…tiny. Yet her slight stature did not stop her from…well, most anything. He had been too nervous to even confront Enthir to give him back the amulet that belonged to his family, after he'd stupidly sold it to him. Gods only know what she had to do to please the damned Bosmer enough to convince him to give that amulet back. Onmund never asked her…he didn't really want to know. Yet she'd done it…she'd retrieved the amulet and given it back to him without hesistation…without question. Of course he'd follow her when she needed. She'd never had to even ask.

Still, he knew she most definitely would have gone to High Hrothgar alone. Why would she have done otherwise? You don't refuse the Greybeards when they call you. You don't refuse the Greybeards when you are told that you are the only Dovahkiin to be born in centuries.

You just don't.

He thought back to the day the dragon had been slain in the outskirts of Whiterun. There they were, minding their own business…about to _leave_ Dragonsreach to head back to the College when…

_Now, how did that go again?_

Onmund thought back to the beginning. In one of her journeys, she'd told him that she 'ran into' Balgruuf. He didn't know how one simply runs into the Jarl of Whiterun, but this was Marieka he was thinking about – she had this odd way of running into people that could get her places. He had discovered that she was studying at the College and since everyone seemed to believe that mages should stick together, insisted that she speak to his court's Wizard, Farengar. It would seem that the man was having some trouble locating a stone of some kind. Without hesitation, she left Whiterun on her own to find the stone. It ended up being a map of some kind – she didn't know, or she didn't say. And he wasn't about to ask.

But she had returned home to the College – with the stone. She'd been so proud that she found it on her own. Onmund felt a twinge deep inside of himself when he discovered she'd put herself into danger by travelling alone like she had been. He told her that she'd not be left alone again…that he'd go with her when she returned to the Wizard to deliver the stone. She laughed at him. Said she didn't need protection. Yet she accepted his offer anyway. Perhaps the promise of companionship was more needed than protection anyway.

They returned to the Jarl's home…Dragonsreach. Onmund had never been to Whiterun, but it was a beautiful city. Some internal squabbling between clans, but then, what Nord city _didn't_ have a little conflict? Farengar had been given his stone, which he excitedly referred to as the Dragonstone.

Dragons… _every_ where. If Onmund had not heard the word dragon again, it would have been too soon.

But of course, the Dunmer had entered the room and made it too soon. _Far_ too soon…

A dragon had attacked the Western Watchtower. Irileth, the Jarl's housecarl, asked them…well, asked _her_ to come with her to hunt the beast. Marieka replied with no words…only action. There was a fire stirred within her that was barely perceptible to those who didn't know to see it…yet Onmund saw. He knew. Something big was on the horizon. Something bigger than the dragon that they were about to hunt.

When the dragon lay dead next to the tower, Irileth watched as Marieka stood alongside it…as something… _something_ …flowed from the dragon and into her. Its essence? Its soul? The guards watched in awe…some of them spoke the word…

_Dragonborn…_

Marieka didn't know what to think. She ignored the cries from the soldiers that stood round her. She pushed through the group and Onmund hurried after her.

"I can't be… How could I be…? Onmund, let's just go back to the College. Get away from all of this," she pleaded with him and he'd obliged. They hurried on and as they neared the gates of the city – the gates that the pair were about to avoid – the world shook.

A rumble…a collective voice…beckoning…calling…

The look of fear – pure, untainted fear – crossed her face. Onmund took her hand and their eyes met. Before either could say a word in response, Irileth approached them from behind.

"You do not think you will be leaving before speaking to the Jarl, do you?" she asked. Though it was not a question, so much as a command.

Marieka resigned herself to go with the elf, and Onmund walked at her side. He heard her mumbling to herself…over and over… "I'm not Dragonborn. I'm not Dragonborn. I'm not Dragonborn."

The Jarl told her immediately that she must be Dragonborn, for the Greybeards summoned her. He told her she must go…seek them out at High Hrothgar. There was no choice in the matter.

And she agreed. At least topically.

For when she left Dragonsreach…when she left Whiterun, and she was left alone with only Onmund at her side, she collapsed to her knees and wept.

"I don't _want_ this, Onmund!" she cried out. "I can't…I can't do this!"

His face fell. How to comfort her…how to reassure her that things would be okay…?

He knelt down in front of her…took her hands away from her face. She looked terrified as the tears poured from her eyes. For the first time in the time he'd known her, she was broken. She was vulnerable, and he didn't know how to handle it.

"It'll be okay, Marieka," he said without thinking. "You…whatever happens…you will handle it. And I'll be here to help."

She looked up at him. "I can't ask you to be here through this. This isn't for you to bear."

"Come here," he said, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "It doesn't matter. I want to help. You _can_ do this alone…I have no fear of that. But you shouldn't have to."

Her arms found their way around his back and she gripped his robes in her fists. He could feel her shake – afraid to accept his offer, but not certain she could go on without him by her side.

So what else _could_ she do but accept his help?

When she finally loosened her grip on him, he stood up and offered her a hand up. She took it and he helped her get to her feet.

"Are you sure, Onmund? This journey…I don't think…it's not going to be easy," she said quietly.

"Of course I'm sure," he replied. "I will be there by your side the entire way." He reached out to wipe the tears from her cheeks and her mouth turned up slightly at the corners.

"Thank you," she said.

Onmund stopped for a moment on their journey towards the peak of the Throat of the World. Between her breakdown to this point, she had gained back all of her confidence…felt more positive about her potential role as Dragonborn. And when they reached the peak, the Greybeards would confirm it.

"Onmund?"

He looked up the path at her as she stood in the blowing wind and snow.

"Why have you stopped?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No reason. Just thinking…"

She smiled at him. "We're almost there."

He looked ahead and could see the monastery was now in sight. "Why, we must be near step six thousand, nine hundred!"

"I reckon you're correct, my friend," she replied.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied. Her voice wavered a little. The uncertainty surprised even her for a moment. She reached her hand out to him, and he responded by closing the gap between them and taking it.

" _Now_ I'm ready," she said.

The two continued towards the monastery, hand-in-hand. If she was to be the Dragonborn, he could at least be there to support her. When they reached the grand doors of the home of the Greybeards, they exchanged a nervous glance with each other.

"You can do this," he said.

"With you here, Onmund, I believe it."


	2. Arngeir

He felt it every time a dragon was felled. The feeling could not be explained, but it was like loss and celebration all at once.

But this day…was different.

This day, the same feeling came and went. And seconds later…another feeling arrived. A feeling that he'd not felt in…too long.

Arngeir looked to his brethren. _So they had all felt it…_

They communed in the centre hall of High Hrothgar – did not exchange words. Merely glances. The Greybeards moved to exit their monastery to send out their request to the world.

As they stood near the peak of the Throat of the World, they faced outward. Towards the four corners of Skyrim. In a singular voice, they spoke.

"Dovahkiin…"

And the world trembled.

It was time. The Dragonborn had come.

* * *

As the days passed, Arngeir's pacing in the hall of High Hrothgar became more frantic. The Dovahkiin had not yet responded to the call of the Greybeards.

This was _unheard_ of.

_No one_ refused the call.

The looks from his brethren reminded him that they would come. There were always challenges along the way. And they would feel if the Dovahkiin had passed from this world – so at the least of it all, the one they summoned still lived.

Still, Arngeir worried. There had not been a Dragonborn for so long. What if no one understood the call?

He returned to his quarters…meditation would help to put his mind at ease. He sat and waited. Thought of nothing. Hours passed.

Then suddenly, there came the sound of the main door of the monastery opening…its echo reverberating through the massive corridors.

He breathed deeply…unsure of what to expect when his eyes would fall upon their saviour.

He made his way back to the hall, where he came upon two figures. The first he saw, a man…hooded, stood off to the side. He eyed the man, who did not look up to meet his gaze.

The second was much smaller…also hooded. A woman. She stepped forward into a column of light that fell into the centre of the room. Removing her hood, he could see her more clearly. Her hair, matted with frozen drops of perspiration of a long journey and blown about by the winds that plagued the mountain, fell to her shoulders. Dark markings surrounded her eyes. She was certainly Breton…a mage perhaps? _Yes, a mage_ , he thought as his eyes fell upon the staff she carried.

_The Dovahkiin was a mage…_

She _must_ have been the Dragonborn…no other would dare enter the hall – save for her companion, whose presence could be excused…for the journey she made was truly difficult.

"We believe you to be Dragonborn," he said as he stepped forward toward her.

She did not respond. Nor move.

"You will have acquired the gift of the voice. The voice of the dragon's tongue. And we wish for you to demonstrate this new talent to us."

She moved to open her mouth, but Arngeir raised a finger to her.

"You may wish for your friend to leave you for some time. He may not be prepared for any of this," he advised.

She turned to face the man and without a word, he nodded and turned to walk away. They remained still and silent until the last echo of the large door faded away.

"Now," he began, "what is your name, Breton?"

"Marieka."

"Marieka. We are the Greybeards. As you have responded to our summons, we can only assume that you believe yourself to be Dovahkiin," he stated.

She nodded. He sighed. She did not look the part. She looked more thief than mage. More child than woman. This was their saviour?

"We have summoned the Dovahkiin to confirm that what we felt less than a fortnight ago was correct. That someone absorbed the soul of a dragon that was slain near Whiterun. To confirm that the Dragonborn has at last returned to us. And to teach them," he said.

She again did not speak.

"Do you have no questions?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Then let us see if you are indeed the one we have summoned," he said. "You may speak directly to us, if you can. We cannot be harmed by the Thu'um."

He could see her breathe in deeply. Her hands dangled at her side until she balled them up into fists to prepare. She had learned one word in the dragon's tongue.

"Fus," she whispered.

The one word was enough.

The force of her whisper was enough to throw back the fabric of the clothes that the four Greybeards wore. To knock items from shelves. To shake the building itself.

"Ah yes," Arngeir said. "Dovahkiin."

She stepped backward. She was uncertain that she had the ability – she had never attempted to speak the word she had gained knowledge of since the dragon had been slain outside of Whiterun. And the Greybeards had confirmed who she was – Dragonborn.

"Come, Marieka," he said. "You and I have much to discuss."

* * *

Arngeir and his brethren spent several hours with Marieka, teaching her the Way of the Voice…evaluating her abilities. As the time passed, his fears that she was not a suitable candidate for the shouts faded away. They were replaced by faith in her ability to learn quickly…to adapt…to perhaps even one day single-handedly take down a dragon. She did not look like much, but there was a strength within her that one could only discover over time.

Perhaps this could be an asset to her – for who would ever see this young Breton as the Dovahkiin?

She would be safer that way. Her anonymity would be beneficial.

But it was time for her to leave them.

A final test for the Dragonborn. She would travel to Ustengrav…burial place of Jurgen Windcaller. She would retrieve the Horn of the man who founded the Greybeards. And when she returned, Arngeir would bestow upon her a powerful gift – the final word to her shout. She would learn it and use it well in her battles.

He had every faith now in the woman who stood before him. She arrived; nervous, yet refused to back down. Her stubbornness would serve her well. It would turn the tide for her.

He had sent Wulfgar to silently retrieve Marieka's companion from where he had since come inside to wait while they trained and evaluated her. As he approached her, he looked at her…hopeful. She smiled warmly at him before turning to nod to the Greybeards that stood observing her.

Arngeir dared to allow a smile to grace his own lips as she left. The mission he had sent her on would be dangerous. Yet he had absolutely no doubt that this would not be the last he would look upon the woman. Not the last, by far.


	3. Lydia

Returning to the barracks in Whiterun was the _only_ thing on her mind. It had been an extremely long day in the Dragonsreach Dungeon. In fact, if there were a post she hated more than the dungeons, Lydia would be hard pressed to find it. She'd even heard that some of the city guard had been sent to the Western Watchtower to assist in slaying a dragon there early in the day.

How would she _ever_ make her mark in this city if she were stuck in the dungeons while dragons were flying about in need of killing?

It wasn't fair. Her talents were being wasted…stifled in the guard. She was ready to go off on some adventure…to prove herself worthy of something more. To be better than a simple guard…a nameless sentinel of Whiterun.

"Oye! Soldier!"

She spun round towards the source of the shout. A fellow soldier stood there – her point exactly. Who knew who this nameless dragon fodder was that stood before her?

"Do you address me?" she asked.

"I don't see anyone else around. You are Lydia, no?" the man replied.

She nodded.

"Good. Haven't got time to keep chasing you around. The Jarl's steward has called for you to attend him. Immediately."

Without another word, the man left her standing there.

The steward spoke for the Jarl. _What in the name of Talos could Proventus be summoning me for?_

Despite wanting nothing more for her feet to find their way straight to her bed, she headed back out towards Dragonsreach. She would see to the steward as requested. To deny the request would be to sully her name in the court of the Jarl forever. Nords had long memories. If she ever wanted to find herself out of this gods-forsaken city, she'd do all she could to help that along.

* * *

"Steward," the guard began, "the soldier you summoned has arrived."

Lydia stopped looking at her feet and threw her shoulders back to stand tall and proud.

"Ah yes," Proventus said. "I thank you for coming so quickly, Lydia."

"Of course," she said, nodding.

"It is sometimes difficult to find you soldiers…running about through the city. And so many of you look the same in that armour. Can't tell the women from the men some days," he mused, waving his hand about for emphasis. "But I digress. I suppose you are not here to listen to me talk about such things."

She didn't move – only stood expectantly.

"I will get to the point. Jarl Balgruuf has appointed a new Thane to the court. We have already made arrangements for the Thane to reside at Breezehome, and she will require a housecarl. That, my dear, is where you come in," he said.

Lydia was stunned; her silence maintained. A housecarl? A…babysitter for the new Thane? How…how could this have happened? What had she done to deserve such a role? She'd _never_ get out of this city now. Yet, she couldn't say no. It was the first time the Jarl had ever recognized her…even if it were only through his steward. She suppressed a sigh in her throat and forced a smile to her lips.

"I…uh…thank you Steward Avenicci," she said, nearly choking on the words. "It would be…an honour to serve the court in this way."

He smiled at her warmly. "Please see to the Jarl's housecarl, Irileth. She will provide you with instructions on how to serve your Thane. Oh, and here…" He held out his hand and dropped a key into hers. "This is your key to Breezehome. The Thane will be away for some time, but will be returning as soon as possible with her belongings. You will like her."

_Doubtful…_

"Thank you Steward," she replied quietly.

When the man had left her, she threw her shield on the ground and herself on a nearby stone bench. None of this was what she wanted. To be stuck in Whiterun in the confines of some small home of the Thane? Forced to be a bootlicker for the rest of her days? She didn't even know who the new Thane was! This was going to be a disaster. _Nothing_ good would come from this.

She leaned her head back against the cold stone wall, squeezing her eyes shut. This day had gone from bad to worse before she could even reconcile what had happened with herself. She sighed loudly, only opening her eyes as she heard footsteps coming towards her.

From around the corner, the Jarl's housecarl appeared. Lydia didn't want to let the news of her appointment sink in, and so wasn't sure of whether or not she was ready for this conversation to come.

"Good eve', Lydia," Irileth said. "I was told I might find you here. Something you'd like to discuss?"

Lydia rubbed at her forehead before turning to face the Dunmer. "Nothing more than what we are meant to discuss."

Irileth nodded to her, but her face did not change. She was almost intimidated by the woman – her cold, dark eyes boring holes into the Nord's soul.

"This is an important job you have been assigned," Irileth said. "The Thane is an important part of the Jarl's court. You are to defend her with your life. You will guard her and follow her when she needs you. And you will tend to her home in Whiterun when she does not."

Lydia swallowed hard. This was not a job she looked forward to. The Dunmer explained the nuances of the job; how to address the Thane, where to stand, what to wear. All things that she found incredibly boring and useless, but would be integral to her duty as guardian of the new Thane.

When the instruction finally ended, Irileth asked if she had questions that had not yet been answered.

"Yes," Lydia replied. "Just who exactly _is_ the Thane?"

"She is a mage from the College of Winterhold," the elf replied. "A Breton. She is not what I expected, that is to be sure."

Lydia nodded, groaning internally. Just what she needed. To wipe the arse of a milk drinker from the College. She departed from Dragonsreach, bidding Irileth goodbye in haste. She would wait at Breezehome for her new… _master_.

* * *

Several days had passed since Lydia was given her new assignment; yet the woman whom she was to guard had still not shown up in Whiterun. It was not as though she cared one way or another. If the woman did not show, she would be reassigned to something else. Probably the dungeons again. At least there was a chance of some excitement there. An attempted breakout of some desperate prisoner perhaps.

If the Thane showed up at all, what was the worst she could see? An assassination attempt? Ha! The clans in Whiterun were too busy squabbling with each other to even care about taking out a new Thane.

As she sat alone in the small room containing a single bed meant for her – as someone with a title such as Thane was obviously meant for the larger room…with the larger bed – she heard a clatter in the lower level of the home. Was someone trying to break in? Finally! Was this the excitement she craved?

She grabbed her steel sword and shield, ready to ward off would-be intruders to the home and made her way downstairs. Halfway down the stairs, the front door opened, revealing two hooded individuals carrying a great deal of…well, she didn't know. What did mages tend to carry with them as they traveled?

A man stepped in first – stopping immediately in shock.

"Who…are you?" he asked, visibly on edge over her appearance.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

A smaller woman stepped forward, putting her hand gently on the man's arm.

"Easy, Onmund," the woman said quietly. "The Steward advised someone would be here when we arrived, remember?"

He relaxed slightly as she stepped forward to greet Lydia. She approached her, nodding slightly. "You must be who the Steward referred to. The…housecarl?"

"Yes," Lydia replied, eyeing the woman carefully. She was not what she expected at all. Small…seemingly polite…in no way a noblewoman…barely a mage…more like someone you'd pass on the street and never recall again. The perfect thief…or assassin…someone used to hiding in the shadows. "Let me assist you with your things."

"No, no," she said. "We can certainly bring this all in and get settled. Besides, I don't even know your name."

"Lydia."

"It is…good to meet you, Lydia," the woman said with a smile. "This is my traveling companion…no, my friend…Onmund." She motioned towards the man who stood beside her. "And my name is Marieka. We are both mages from the College—"

"At Winterhold," Lydia finished for her. "Yes, I was advised of where you had come from."

"Lydia, where can we bring our things?" Onmund asked.

"Upstairs," she replied. "There is a large bedroom that the Thane will be staying in."

He nodded his thanks. "Marieka, here. Let me take this from you," he said, reaching for her satchel and bags. She handed them over to him, and he left the two women alone to head upstairs.

Marieka took a deep breath and spun around slowly, taking in her surroundings. She looked overwhelmed at the size of the home in which she stood.

"I…can't believe this. This is mine," she said, though not directly to Lydia. The other woman stood by, waiting for… _something_ to happen. Marieka looked at her and smiled. "I'm not really certain of how this works."

"What do you wish to know?" Lydia asked.

"Well," she began, "for starters, I really have no idea what a Thane does. Or even what a housecarl is. I mean, why are you here? Not that I don't appreciate it." She looked down nervously. "I'm sorry. That must have sounded terrible."

Lydia relaxed slightly. For the first time, she felt a bit more comfortable around this mage…this…Thane. "Do not worry. This is a first for both of us. I've never been housecarl to a Thane before. Or to anyone, for that matter."

"I suppose we shall learn together then," she replied.

"Yes, I suppose so," the warrior said. "As a Thane, you will be held in high esteem by the Court of the Jarl. He will look to his Court for advice and will trust your opinion. And as your housecarl, I am sworn to be your shield and defend you with my life. I will also assist you in carrying your belongings in your travels, should you need me."

"Oh, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that," she said.

Lydia looked at her, confused at the statement. "I'm not sure what you mean, my Thane."

"Oh…I'm _also_ not sure if I'm comfortable with _that_ ," Marieka said. "Titles, and being guarded…and followed around like I can't do things for myself. I'd much rather have a traveling companion. A friend."

Lydia cocked her head for a moment. She had begun to appreciate this woman more than she thought she ever would. Perhaps this Breton woman from the College of Winterhold would be stronger than she expected. A more interesting companion. A friend.

"I…hope it is not too forward of me to ask this of you, my Thane," Lydia said.

"Please…just…call me Marieka," she replied. "And of course. You may ask me anything."

"How is it that a mage of the College…a Breton that is obviously not a native of Skyrim, let alone Whiterun…how is it that you have become the Thane of our city?"

Marieka stood for a moment, pondering the woman's question. "Well now…I suspect it had something to do with when we slew the dragon at the Western Watchtower."

"You were there?" Lydia was more than surprised at the revelation.

She nodded. "Onmund and I both. Terrifying, yet not the first dragon I'd seen. I escaped from Helgen some time ago…when the dragon attacked the keep. In our time traveling together, we've come across others, though none that had attacked us. At least, not yet."

"You sound as though you've had some luck in your travels," Lydia suggested.

"That we have," Marieka replied. "Among other things…"

"I'm not sure what you're referring to…but…" she started, before shaking her head. "Never mind. So…where have you been in this past number of days?"

"I was summoned to High Hrothgar," she said. "To meet with the Greybeards…"

"But…they are said to speak only to those who are…"

Lydia took a step back. Marieka nodded.

"Yes…Dragonborn," she replied.

"You? You are Dragonborn?"

"So I am told," Marieka said, a strange sadness in her expression.

The housecarl fell back into an awaiting chair behind her. She looked up at the woman…the Dragonborn. This job…this assignment…was no longer predictable. There was nothing about the future that she would be able to assume. She was housecarl to the Thane of Whiterun. The Dragonborn of Skyrim.

_Apparently_ , Lydia thought, _I should be careful what I wish for…_


	4. Brynjolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to fall for the wiles of Brynjolf…I just wasn't. But then the sexy bastard called my character lass. And kept calling her lass. It's hopeless now, and I've got to write him in to this story – even more so than I think he's intended to be a part of the game. Enjoy!

Despite the guards keeping so many potential visitors to Riften out of the city, some folk managed to slip through the gates – be it the jingle of gold, an iron fist or a honeyed tongue, there were ways to make the guards look the other way as one slipped in. It was only mildly surprising then, that the city was so busy some nights.

And where would visitors flock to on their first night in the small settlement, but the local tavern – The Bee and Barb. It was as good a place as any for Brynjolf to stake claim to the pockets of the newcomers. His guild…the Thieves Guild…was in a hard way – anything extra he could conveniently slip from the pouch of an unsuspecting visitor and into his own could do nothing but help. Financially, and as a reminder of who ran the show.

He typically found a shady corner in the tavern – and of that, there were many – and observed.

He watched those that were regulars enter…find their usual spots…and drink their sorrows away for the night. They were easy picking by the end of their tenure in the tavern – it was just a matter of helping them out of the door as they swayed uneasily on their intoxicated feet. Or perhaps a quick nudge, followed by an "Oh, pardon me, lad…didn't see you there…". They never failed to resurface the next night, back for more mead to forget their troubles.

And there were his fellow guild members as well. They'd come and go, looking to slip a hand into a robe pocket…or to cut the purse strings of a passerby. Amateurs.

But it was always the newcomers who were the most satisfying. With little knowledge of the guild's presence in the tavern – and sometimes even the city itself – there was any number of ways that a thief as gifted as Brynjolf could swindle a newcomer out of something they probably forgot they even carried. A friendly drink with a fellow Nord traveller was one way. Sweet talking his way into the bed of a young lass for the night was another. The latter was rather one of his favourites.

He leaned back in his chair, a bottle of mead in hand, and watched. This night was unfortunately slim of opportunities for fishing it seemed. A few regulars, but they gathered in small groups. It was often more difficult to get one of them alone when they were fully intoxicated. He prepared himself to be resigned to the fact that this night would be suitable merely for a couple of drinks, and then home to bed – pockets empty.

That was, until the tavern door opened revealing the most beautiful sight he had ever seen – two young women…ripe for the picking. Why, it looked as though he might even be able to bed one or the other…both if he played his cards right. And he'd not complain for one moment while he did.

He eyed them both carefully. The first, obviously a Nord by her stature, carried a sword and shield. She'd likely give him more trouble, though a few well-placed compliments could turn the tide in his direction. The other was small – obviously no Nord - but until she removed her hood, he'd had no idea she was Breton. They had several packs with them – they'd easily be missed when they turned their backs. The women both scanned the room before choosing a table off to the side of the tavern; darkly lit, away from others…perfect. Suddenly, Brynjolf had a good feeling that he'd not be leaving this night empty handed after all.

As the Nord settled at the table, the Breton headed across the room towards the bar, where Keerava, the tavern's Argonian innkeeper sold her food and drink. She walked gracefully without the weight of all her baggage. He hadn't realized how closely he'd been looking at her until she turned around with several bottles of mead in hand and caught him doing so. She quickly turned away when their eyes met, but the seed had been planted. Brynjolf would certainly have the young lass that night.

When she reached her table and sat down, he was slightly relieved that the other woman had chosen the chair facing him – for the Breton would be suspicious had she caught him eyeing her again. As the two clanged their bottles together, Brynjolf noticed a familiar face at a table beyond them. It was Sapphire, one of his fellow guild members. She was fixated on the two women as well, but he caught her eye and shook his head at her. She frowned, knowing that these targets belonged to him that night and she'd be forced to back off and look elsewhere.

Several rounds of mead later, the women still sat at their table, chatting and laughing together. A couple of Nords from across the room had pulled up to the table next to them; constantly trying to get their attention. Yet the women ignored them as best they could. They were attractive enough – it was likely they were harassed in this manner whenever they found themselves in a tavern such as this.

The Nord woman stood up, conferred with her friend for a moment and then headed towards the counter once more. He noticed Sapphire was still in the room and nodded to her, indicating that she was welcome to try her luck with the warrior. She smiled slyly and sauntered over to the woman at the bar. Knowing Sapphire, she'd chat the woman up – successfully as she always did – leaving the Breton helpless and alone…ready to be preyed upon.

Brynjolf took a gulp of his mead, finishing off the bottle and stood ready to approach the young woman across the room. As he took his first step, he watched her carefully as she slid her chair out slightly to have a look on the shelf next to her. And damn if she didn't reach for something on the shelf and quickly slide it under the table, ready to pocket it without anyone being the wiser. He smiled. Perhaps this one would be more difficult to get to than he suspected.

Just as he was about to walk up to her, the drunken boor at the table next to her slithered his chair close to hers as his mates goaded him on. He saw the man say something to her, his hand sliding up on to her upper thigh, making its way over to slip in between her legs. In an instant, the flash of a blade caught his eye as it was drawn across the man's throat, a whisper away from slicing it open. Her other hand hovered above the table and was pointed in the direction of the other two men, sparks flickering off her palm and dancing through her fingers. Brynjolf raised an eyebrow as the man closest to her immediately released her leg and backed away. _A mage at that…_

As he continued over to her table stealthily, he saw her sheathe the weapon in her hand, and the sparks faded away. When he was nearly beside her, he stopped.

"Boys giving you trouble, lass?"

She jumped in her seat, startled at the voice behind her. She spun around and looked up at him, her dark eyes surrounded by the markings on her face. He stepped towards the empty chair that her companion had vacated and slipped into it; all the while, her suspicious eyes never left him.

"That chair is taken," she spat, obviously annoyed by his presence. "My friend will be—"

"Your friend," he began, interrupting her, "seems to be a wee bit busy at the moment." He nodded in the direction of the bar, where Sapphire stood close to the Nord, her fingers softly running down the woman's cheek.

She sighed. "I guess I'll be getting the next round after all."

He smiled at her and stood up, turning towards the men who had pestered her those few moments prior. He reached down and grabbed four bottles of mead that they had stockpiled at their table.

"Consider it payment for the harassment," he growled at them, and they said nothing when he turned away from them and returned to his seat.

Something flickered in her eye as she looked at him. The faintest of smiles ghosted upon her lips briefly.

"Here, lass," he said, handing her a bottle. "You shan't miss out on some good mead because your friend has...better things to do."

"Thank you," she said quietly, sipping the mead. She breathed a deep breath and looked back towards her friend.

"No need to look so wistful, lass," he said.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" she asked.

"Because that's what you are," he replied. "Well, that and I don't know your name."

"Ah," she replied. "Marieka." She stuck her hand out across the table to shake his. But he did not shake her hand – instead, he took it and brought it up to meet his lips, kissing the tops of her fingers softly.

"Marieka. A beautiful name for a beautiful lass."

Her cheeks tinged red as she pulled her hand back the second he released it.

"I…" she began, unable to finish her thought. Instead, she brought the bottle to her lips and gulped hard. "And you are…?"

"My name is Brynjolf," he replied with a smile.

"Well then Brynjolf. Exactly what is it that you are bothering me for?" she asked.

Mockingly, he placed his hand over his heart and threw his head back. "The lass wounds me!"

When he looked back at her, she was not amused.

"You're a tough nut to crack, lass."

Again she turned in the direction of her companion.

"I hope I have not offended," he said. "I'll not lie to you. I had every intention of robbing you blind this eve."

_Well…that certainly got her attention…_

She slowly turned her head back to face him, her eyes narrowing at him. "Is that so?"

"It is," he replied. "You see, it's one of my talents."

"Oh?" she smirked. "And how are you at having your throat slit?" He saw her reaching for the dagger at her waist once more and grabbed her arm tightly.

"Now, lass…let's not fight. After all, I said I _had_ every intention. I no longer do," he said.

She relaxed slightly and he released her arm. "What changed your mind?"

"One of my other talents is being able to recognize when another has my first talent," he replied. "And you, my dear, just may."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I have…a bit of a job that I'd like to throw your way," he said. "Test the waters, so to speak. Interested?"

"I'm listening…"

He explained to her the details of the job through gulps of mead. It was simple enough – break into a lockbox and steal a ring. In the market. In the middle of the day.

He saw her hesitation initially. "Don't worry lass…I'll be providing a distraction to keep everyone's eyes on me and off of you."

She swallowed hard and sat motionless for a moment. She looked back up at him after some time had passed. "Agreed."

"Good…very good," he said. "Meet me in the market tomorrow during the day. Once you've shown up, you'll complete your task, and we'll move on from there."

She nodded.

He got to his feet and pushed the chair back in to the table.

"You're leaving?" she asked.

"Ah, _now_ you're interested in having me stay?" he teased her. "Yes, lass…I'm leaving. But I'll see you tomorrow in the market. Don't forget."

"I won't," she said, as something of a grin crossed her face.

"And perhaps when you're done with that, I can give you a demonstration of another one of my talents," he said slyly. "Coincidentally, something else I had fully intended doing to you tonight."

As her jaw dropped, he turned around and continued on his way with a smile. His assessment was right earlier in the evening – he'd not be going home empty handed with this one...


	5. Mirabelle Ervine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I happen to really like Mirabelle. Her limited role (the same as many others) was disappointing. I certainly hope I've done her justice in this.
> 
> A few liberties have been taken with this chapter. So there may be some elements that you think were key to certain quests that have been modified. I hope if that's the case, you can put aside what you believe is canon to the quests, and just enjoy my interpretation of it all.
> 
> And yes. The College got attacked by a Blood Dragon the moment I stepped outside to fight the anomalies in Winterhold. Is this part of the quest? I don't know. Probably just my bad luck.
> 
> Anyhow…on with the show…

The Hall of the Elements was typically a place of learning at the College of Winterhold. A peaceful place for lectures by Tolfdir and quiet instruction on the nuances of the restoration magics by Colette. Yet now, it was all but defiled. Some would say that Tolfdir's expedition to Saarthal was successful; bringing with it the discovery of an incredible artifact full of energy and light. Though, whose bright idea it was to transport the large floating orb – the Eye of Magnus – to the middle of the Hall of Elements, Mirabelle didn't know. She certainly would give them a piece of her mind once she discovered who they were.

Aside from the fact that Tolfdir had done nothing but stare at it for days since it was brought there – rendering him more useless than usual – it gave her a bad feeling. There was something about it that needed  _taking care of_. Exactly the reason why the Arch-Mage Savos Aren sent one of the College's newest apprentices off to seek out the Staff of Magnus from the ruins of Mzulft, she supposed. Except that Marieka had been gone for months now. She had  _no_  idea what the girl had been doing. And she'd brought another apprentice, Onmund, with her. If the two had somehow found trouble at the ruins and perished, she'd never have forgiven herself.

But if the girl was traipsing halfway across Skyrim, taking her sweet time in hunting for the staff…why, she'd kill the bloody mage herself.

The girl had better return to the College as soon as those little Breton legs of hers could carry her – they needed her. Well, they needed that staff. For it was not just Tolfdir who had become obsessed with the Eye…that damned Altmer Ancano had barricaded himself in the centre of the great hall, drawing more magic from the Eye as every second passed.

She stared at the Mer through the gate, watching as he all but merged with the great sphere.

"Still no response from him then?"

Mirabelle turned to see Savos entering the hall from the direction of his quarters. She shook her head. "No. He will not respond to me. He won't even look in my direction," she growled. "We must get in there, Savos. This  _cannot_  wait for the apprentice."

"Without the staff," he replied, "I'm not certain what we can accomplish."

She shook her head again, disappointed. They should  _not_  be held hostage to this man. It was  _their_  College…they would have to reclaim it.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to scold the Arch-Mage's resistance, the great doors to the hall opened, accompanied by a massive gust of wind, blowing snow and crystals of ice towards them. She pulled her robes tightly against her, turning to face those who entered.

"Marieka! Onmund!" Savos exclaimed. "You've returned to us!"

"By the Nine, girl! Where have you been?" Mirabelle shouted.

Marieka was on the verge of replying when Savos jumped between the two women. "We can discuss your whereabouts later. Where is the Staff? Do you have it?"

The apprentice looked down and shook her head.

"What do you mean you don't have it?" Mirabelle questioned. "You've been gone for  _months_! Where is the Staff?"

"Now, hold on a moment," Onmund said, jumping to her defense. He stepped forward defiantly in front of Mirabelle, but Marieka gently pulled him back.

"Onmund…it's fine," she said quietly, yet her demeanour changed when she turned back to the woman. "We spent days in Mzulft. That ruin was full to the brim with Dwemer machinations and traps. Oh, and a Chaurus. Or twenty. I lost count after the first two of them we battled. Have you ever  _seen_  a Chaurus, Mirabelle? And I don't mean in a book. I mean up close and personal. Where you feel their poison hit you and you want to rip the skin from your own bones to get rid of the agony you feel?"

"Point taken, Marieka," she replied, narrowing her eyes at the younger mage. "You've faced insurmountable odds and come out on top. Yet, without the Staff. So what happened?"

She sighed loudly, obviously annoyed by Mirabelle's insistence. "We eventually found a member of the Synod…the group of mages that you advised me to seek out. Paramus?" She paused for a moment to check for recognition of the man's name, but seeing none, continued. "I'm quite certain he was driven mad on account of being so isolated in the ruins and surrounded by the clawing and sounds of death. At least judging by the Falmer dead that littered the entire route to where he hid. He was not happy to see us…at least until we advised him we had exactly what he'd been waiting for – a focusing crystal. He needed it for his research in the…" She looked at Onmund for a moment.

"Oculory," he offered.

"Yes," she continued. "The Oculory. Without going into too many more details, he advised us that a tremendous amount of interference was preventing him from coming up with clear results. Interference that I could only assume came from the Eye."

She peeked past the two senior mages into the main hall where the Eye was and noticed Ancano standing in front of it, energy passing between his and the orb.

"What in Oblivion is Ancano  _doing_ in there?" she exclaimed.

"This is  _exactly_  why we've been so anxious for your return, Marieka," Mirabelle said through her teeth. "But we must know where the Staff is."

"Ah, of course," she replied. "Paramus advised us it is at Labyrinthian."

Mirabelle turned towards Savos. "Labyrinthian? But isn't that—"

"Perhaps we shouldn't be concerned with the Staff at the moment," Savos said. She and Marieka noticed he was suddenly acting more than suspicious. Yet neither questioned him. "We must get in there and stop Ancano."

"Are you sure, Savos?" she asked. "You just mentioned that you didn't know what we could do without the assistance of the Staff."

"Let us try, Mirabelle."

She nodded. "He has placed a ward, yet the two of us have not yet been able to break through it alone. Perhaps with your help, Marieka…"

The young mage nodded and stood waiting for their signal.

With the forces of lightning and ice, Savos and Mirabelle aimed their magic at the gate, prompting Marieka to join in with a third element – flame. The three elemental energies combined and overwhelmed the ward on the gate, shattering into thousands of pieces and allowing them access to face Ancano's treachery.

The four mages entered the hall, Onmund holding Marieka back slightly.

"Ancano!" Savos cried out, his voice thundering like few had heard before. "Release your hold on this power!"

The Altmer glanced at the Arch-Mage, but only momentarily. He didn't move and continued whatever it was that he was doing.

"You leave us no choice," Savos said sadly, before throwing a powerful bolt of lightning at the Mer. Mirabelle followed suit, attempting to send a spike of ice at the elf. But before her magic hit the mark, an explosion of energy engulfed the room, throwing all of them backwards with such force that they were knocked unconscious.

* * *

Her eyes opened. Slowly.

Fingers on cold stone. Ringing in her ears…or…no. It was the ringing of the sphere…the gods-damned Eye that still hovered in the Hall. And Ancano…still standing in front of it.

Mirabelle moved to sit up, immediately grasping at her abdomen. She squeezed her eyes shut; the pain was just too much. She remembered…briefly…the explosion of energy. The sphere responded to their magic with a burst outwards. She was thrown backwards, spun in mid-air, and evidently crashed stomach first into one of the great stone pillars that supported the Hall of the Elements great expanse. There must have been broken bones somewhere. Where was Colette when she needed her most?

"Ungh," she groaned, continuing her attempts to raise herself up to lean against the very pillar that likely caused her so much agony.

"Mirabelle?" came a whisper.

"Marieka? Is that you?" she replied weakly.

The young mage crawled over to her from behind the pillar she leaned on.

"What…what happened?" she asked, bewildered.

"The Eye," she replied. "The Eye has powers we do not understand. Go…you must find Savos. He will know what to do. I cannot move."

Stumbling a little, Marieka managed to get to her feet. "I will hurry back as soon as I can."

As the girl and presumably Onmund left her – as she could see no one else but Ancano in the Hall – she glared at the Mer. It was he…he who had caused so much of this trouble. It did not matter that Marieka had actually found the sphere…or that someone else – probably Savos – had decided to have it brought to the College. No, Ancano had exacerbated the situation by…performing this ritual of his upon it. He would see justice, that was certain. She would make sure of it.

Her eyes closed briefly, yet she had no idea how much time had passed when she opened them again. All she knew was that Collette stood in front of her, staring in awe at the sight of Ancano connected with the sphere through some sort of magic she'd not seen before.

"Collette," she murmured.

The woman turned to her quickly. "Mirabelle! I was afraid you'd succumb to your injuries. You didn't come to when I attempted to heal you. But…here you are."

Her voice wavered. She angrily wiped away a tear on her cheek.

"Collette, what has happened? Where's Savos?" she asked.

Collette shook her head sadly.

Mirabelle felt herself tremble. She looked down at her hands which had begun to shake. She clenched her fists tightly and squeezed her eyes shut, as tears welled over.

"The young mages," she whispered hoarsely. "Where are they?"

"They've gone to Winterhold. To protect the people of the town. The sphere…it…something came from it. I don't know what."

"It's too powerful for the apprentices! They'll be killed," she exclaimed.

The healer shook her head. "Faralda and Arniel have gone with them. They'll come back…I feel it. Let me help you up."

Mirabelle shook her head vigorously. "No! My—" She felt her abdomen and chest, but the pain had subsided a little. Enough to move. "Did you? Did you fix this?"

She nodded. "Let's get away from this orb before it does something else unexpected," Collette wisely suggested.

The two women hurried out of the Hall of the Elements and into the College's courtyard. The winds were furious; the snow blinding. She held her hand up to her face to shield it from the snow and could make out the outline of a huge skeleton lying in the middle of the courtyard. A…dragon? Here? She breathed a sigh of relief as she reminded herself that it was merely the beast's skeletal remains and the women continued on. They turned to head towards the Hall of Attainment to shelter from the elements and rest until the apprentices returned. As they reached the door, she saw Marieka out of the corner of her eye and beckoned her over. She and Onmund followed the two into the Hall and to her quarters.

Mirabelle fell down on to her bed and Collette sat in a chair in the corner. "What happened out there?"

"Bursts of energy," Marieka answered. "From the Eye, no doubt. But not nearly as powerful as the blast we felt. Onmund and I were able to help Arniel and Faralda contain the threat. They remained in the town to seek out survivors…see if their help was needed any further. I didn't see any townsfolk injured."

"Finally," she said, "some good news."

"What do you mean?" the young Breton asked.

"Savos. Savos is dead."

Collette shifted uncomfortably in the corner as Onmund and Marieka looked at each other.

"How?" he asked, stunned. "How did we all survive, yet he…?"

Mirabelle shook her head sadly. "I do not know. And I do not know how we will stop Ancano."

"The Staff," Marieka said suddenly. "I will go to Labyrinthian to retrieve it."

"You? You would do this?"

"You said yourself, Mirabelle. I was gone for far too long. It is my fault Savos is dead. It is only right that I retrieve the Staff," she said, looking down. "What else can I do but retrieve it?"

Mirabelle didn't mean for this. She didn't mean for the girl to blame herself for the Arch-Mage's death.

"No, my girl. This is Ancano's doing. But you can stop him by finding the Staff," she said. She got up off the bed and went over to a small dresser. Digging through one of the drawers, she pulled out a heavy looking object. It was shaped as a horseshoe and covered in intricate carvings. "Savos gave this to me long ago. He told me that when the time came, I would know what to do with it. And so I give this to you. It will let you into places you will need to go."

She placed the item into Marieka's hand, and as the young woman pulled her hand away, something caught Mirabelle's eye. She snatched her hand and turned it palm down; displaying a small gold ring on her finger.  _That_  finger.

"Are you… _married_?" She looked at Onmund's left hand now, noticing a matching ring. "You two? You're married?  _This_  is what you've been doing all these months?"

"Mirabelle, it's not what you think," Marieka protested.

"How can it  _not_  be what I think?" the woman spat. "You and him…off gallivanting gods know where, while we sit and wait in the shadow of Ancano's deceit?"

Onmund stepped up again. "Now you listen, Mirabelle. You have absolutely no idea what Marieka has gone through. What we've  _both_  gone through. Yes, we stopped for a moment to be married under the gaze of Mara, but by the Nine! She deserves it! You've been sheltered up here at the College for so long that you don't even know what's out there. We could die at any moment…doesn't she deserve to have someone by her side?  _Some_  sort of happiness?" He grabbed her hand defiantly and held on to it tightly.

"And you're just the mage to give it to her, are you Onmund?"

Mirabelle turned away from them, ready to walk out of her room angrily. She was impeded by the appearance of Tolfdir in the doorway.

"Out of my way, old man," she growled.

"Actually Mirabelle," he replied in his quiet manner, "you may just want to stay to hear this."

She backed up and allowed him entry. He approached Marieka and stood in front of her, taking her hands as Onmund let go of the one he held.

"I saw what happened in the courtyard, Marieka," he said, looking into her eyes. "The dragon…you…absorbed its soul."

Mirabelle's attention was now focused solely on the old man's words.

"You are Dragonborn."

Her eyes were drawn in the direction of the older woman for a moment, and then returned to Tolfdir`s. She nodded slowly. "I am."

"What?" Mirabelle exclaimed. "You? Dragonborn? How did this…?"

She shook her head. "It is  _also_  what kept me from returning to the College in a more…timely manner. I am sorry Mirabelle. I never meant for my delays to cause harm to you. To the Arch-Mage." If it were possible, the small woman shrunk even smaller, saddened by the most recent developments. "I never asked for this. I didn't want this Mirabelle. I only wanted to study magic. To have a friend or two I could count on. I don't want to be a saviour. To be the only one that can…protect this land from its demons…"

Silence held the room after the echo of her words died. She squeezed the key to Labyrinthian in her hand and rushed out of the room past Tolfdir and Mirabelle. Onmund looked at the faces of the others; the old man's being the most apologetic. He hurried after her until Mirabelle grabbed his arm and stopped him. He looked back at her; anger upon his face.

"Please," she said, her expression pained. "I didn't…I didn't know. Please ask her to forgive me…"

Tolfdir looked at the woman, placing a sympathetic hand upon her shoulder. She released Onmund's arm and he left to chase after his wife.

"She'll come around," the old man said. She nodded sadly, uncertain of whether his words rang true.

* * *

As the days passed slowly and Marieka had not yet returned, Mirabelle – now the senior mage at the College – was forced to make a decision. Ancano's power was becoming too great – the Eye's influence had grown. The College would have to be evacuated.

"Tolfdir," she instructed the old mage, "you must get everyone away from the College. Get them to Winterhold. I will hold him; prevent that bastard Ancano from figuring out what you're doing. He'll not get to you."

"Mirabelle," he said sadly. "You can't do this. You can't sacrifice yourself to him. We can help you."

"There is no other way," she said. "You are too weak, old man. Your magic will never stand up to the power of that bloody Eye."

He chuckled at her. "Even now, you insult me, my girl."

"Yes," she replied, smiling weakly at him. "Even now. Now go…"

He embraced her momentarily, before turning to head off to gather the mages of the College.

"And Tolfdir?"

"Yes Mirabelle?" he replied without turning to face her.

"Tell her I'm sorry. Let her know that I'm proud of what she's accomplished. And that I believe in her. I can't think of a more appropriate person to be called Dragonborn."

She saw him nod slowly. "She'll know."

He continued on.

She shed a tear. The last she'd ever shed.


	6. Brynjolf II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would seem that everyone recognizes Brynjolf is an excellent thief, but cannot imagine how as his thief-related skills are severely lacking. This seems to be an ongoing joke , albeit unintentional.
> 
> It would also seem that Brynjolf does not want to vacate the premises known as my mind at the moment, so my apologies...you'll have to sit through one more chapter with him after this before I move on to another.

"Would you stop pacing?" Dirge growled. "You're driving me mad."

Brynjolf halted his steps for a moment, looked at the Imperial and scowled at him. He then immediately returned to his pacing, ignoring the man's request.

"Well, can you at least go  _somewhere else_  and pace?"

"Gods damn you, Dirge!" He swiped a dagger from a nearby table and whipped it at the man's feet.

"You missed," Dirge smirked.

"No. I didn't," Brynjolf replied and trudged off to the cistern.

There, he at least found a number of his fellow thieves that were busy doing something other than watching him. Most of them, anyway.

The exception, as usual, was the leader of the Guild, Mercer Frey. No matter how engrossed the man ever managed to become in whatever he was involved with, he never failed to sense when Brynjolf was…unsettled.

"What's the problem now?"

The Nord eased on to a stool near the counter Mercer stood behind. He leaned forward, lowering his head into his hand.

"It's nothing, Mercer," he replied. "Just thinking about…job that I…"

"Brynjolf, you're not even speaking in full sentences. Please. Tell me this is  _not_  about the Breton."

He looked up at the man and sighed. "Of course not."

"I have no idea how you're so successful as a thief, because you are a  _terrible_  liar," Mercer said.

His face displayed resignation. "Fine. So it's about the Breton. I was positive that one had…something."

"Oh, she had something, all right. Your balls in her grip, apparently," Mercer quipped.

Brynjolf narrowed his eyes at the man. "Fuck off, Mercer."

He chuckled. "She probably just found someone better to do. Oh, did I say someone? I meant something."

"Remind me why I bother talking to you again," Brynjolf mumbled. He stood up and began to walk away.

"Look…Brynjolf…I don't know if this has anything to do with anything, but rumour has it that there's a new Thane in Riften. Not from around here either. Did some messing around with one or two of the Skooma dealers, which of course impressed our Jarl," he said.

"Why are you telling me this?" Brynjolf asked.

"Do you need me to paint a picture for you? There's a new noble in town. Don't you think that's a perfect occasion to break into the place and clean it out before the owner even shows?" Mercer prompted.

The Nord sighed. "Where's the home?"

"Honeyside," Mercer said. "You'd best get over there before the new housecarl's assigned. There's only a small window of opportunity where things will be easy pickings."

"Ah, you know me. I like a challenge," he said with a smile. "Thanks for the tip, lad."

For what it was worth, it'd at least give him something to do. He decided he'd have a look at the place…see if anyone had moved anything in yet. No sense breaking into a house that'd be full of empty crates, cobwebs and dust. He made his way through the cistern, back to the Ragged Flagon and out the passage to the graveyard that only the thieves in the Guild knew of. As he exited, he discerned that it was likely close to midnight – a perfect time to do some reconnaissance work.

As he made his way through the streets of Riften, he started to think about the girl again. She'd been a perfect thief that day in the marketplace. Snuck her way into the merchant's lockbox and stole the ring without anyone the wiser. She'd even taken to planting it on that Dunmer that had crossed the Guild. Never even questioned why – she just did it. He'd no idea what she had looked to get out of it…perhaps the thrill of the act. Who knew? Why did any thief steal? It was just what they did.

When they'd met up at the Bee and Barb that evening, he'd told her how pleased he was that she'd followed through with the tasks. Gave her directions to the Ragged Flagon even…though not through the nicest part of town. He didn't think that would have mattered considering how she handled herself. Either way, she showed interest in being introduced to his way of life – she definitely showed interest. He truly thought she'd be back. But months had passed. She'd moved on for certain. Gods, she might even be dead for all he knew.

As he neared Honeyside, a pair of guards stood near its entrance. He waited for a short while, but when they didn't seem to have any intention of vacating, he decided to check another way in. He leaned on the rail overlooking the dockyard and noticed the home seemed to have its own dock. Why he'd never noticed that before, he wasn't sure, but he noticed it when it counted, and that suited him fine. He continued along the walkway and when the guards turned away from his direction, he slipped over the rail and into some bushes. Carefully scrambling down an embankment, he eventually found himself on the dock looking up a stairway to the home's back porch.

_Perfect…_

There was enough darkness with the moon hanging as just a sliver of light in the sky. No torches or lanterns lit the area either. He snuck up the stairs and found the back entrance, pulling a lockpick from his pouch. It slid easy and the door clicked quietly, opening with a slight creak. The room he found himself in was quite dark, but recognizable enough as a bedroom. No one had sullied the linens on it though…perhaps the house was uninhabited yet.

He crept through the room towards a doorway. A light seemed to flicker beyond…maybe someone was here after all. As he reached the arch of the door, he saw a candle on a table next to a solitary chair. Dangling over the side of the chair was an arm holding a book. The arm must have had a very sleepy owner to have fallen asleep midway through reading, but Brynjolf didn't care. He tossed a small pebble next to where the chair sat, testing how light of a sleeper the individual in it could be. The person moved slightly at the sound, moaning a bit in their slumber.

At least he knew it was a woman in the chair now. Or at least a feminine sounding man…

He crept into the dimly lit room, his eyes moving up and down the shelves, looking for treasures that could be easily grabbed and stashed. He was daring when people were home during a heist, but he didn't press his luck that far where a Thane was concerned. A small pile of gemstones caught his eye on a nearby table by the window. He silently made his way over to it and began to inspect them. Placing them in his hand, he inched closer to the window to allow some of the ambient light of the faded moon to highlight the gems. He held them up, one at a time, into the filtered light, examining them closely.

As he was about to pocket them, he made to stand up from his crouched position and felt a sharp poke at his side.

_Caught!_

"What are you doing in my house?"

"Would you believe, inspecting it for skeevers?" he replied.

The poke at his side became sharper, and he was convinced it was a dagger.

"Oh, that is rich."

"I try," he said. "What say we forget the whole thing? I put back what fell off the shelves and into my pockets, and no one will be the wiser. And then perhaps I look you up tomorrow and buy you a drink."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

He felt the pressure from the blade at his side lessen, but only slightly.

"Only the pretty ones," he said.

"And you haven't even seen me."

"You sound pretty."

"Flatterer."

"Oh," he said. "I like you. You're feisty." If he could just distract the woman enough, he'd be able to disarm her somehow and escape this situation.

"You don't know the half of it…" Her voice trailed off a little. She sounded…distracted momentarily.

He seized the opportunity and quickly reached up with the hand closest to where the dagger sat, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling the arm away from his body. In a fluid motion, he yanked the woman back and spun her around until he was behind her; her back to his chest. He used her own weapon against her, pulling it close to her throat…ready to cut if need be.

"Going to kill me now? In my own home?" she asked.

_Who_ _**is** _ _this woman? Remarkably cheeky for someone with a blade at their neck._

"You're not exactly in a position to be such a smart arse, lass," he reminded her.

"Ah, there it is."

"There what is?"

"Just something I wanted to hear. Listen, I don't know if I should be insulted or impressed that you are trying to break into my home. But I suppose that's dependent on whether you consider me Thane or thief."

"What in Oblivion are you talking about woman?" He had no idea what she was going on about. So he responded in the only way he knew how – he let her go and pushed her away.

"That's better," she said, rubbing at her neck. She began to turn around slowly, but the light did not illuminate her face until…

"Wait a moment…lass? That you?"

"For a thief Brynjolf, you're not very perceptive," she replied.

"Marieka! By the Nine, it  _is_  you!" he exclaimed. "Come here, lass!"

He barely waited for her to approach him before pulling her into an embrace. It was something she had not expected, for she'd not have approached him. When he released her, she backed away to a comfortable distance and looked up at him.

"What…why didn't you come back? And how is it that you are Thane?" he asked. "I thought you'd have come back. Why didn't you come back?"

"Hmm…you asked me that already," she said with a smirk. "I don't know. I've been busy."

"Gods, woman! I invested a lot of time into you!" he exclaimed.

She moved to pick up the candle holder and began to carry it towards the bedroom.

"You did not. You barely knew me an hour before you offered me that job. What kind of time investment is that?" she said, shaking her head. She placed the candle holder on the bedside table and sat at the edge of the bed. She began to remove her boots as he leaned against the doorframe watching her.

"I've done a  _lot_  of waiting for you. How long have you made me wait? Months!"

"I tend to do that to people," she replied, tossing a boot towards the wall. "Besides, I was going to come to find you at the Ragged Flagon tomorrow…had you just been a little more patient."

"Patient? Lass, I've paced down in that bloody pub waiting for you to arrive every day since you left. I could no longer be patient."

She paused and looked up at him. "Brynjolf…why did you expect me for so long? What did I do that told you I'd be there?"

"Because…you just…you  _seemed_  very interested in me…I mean…in the lifestyle I was offering to show you. And I spoke so highly of you to Mercer. He'll likely not even wish to allow you into the Guild now. So I suppose you shouldn't even bother." He was stumbling over his words. Like a drunk. What  _was_  it about this woman? Was it that she seemed impervious to his normal tricks? Or that she could give as well as she received?

"You seem nervous, Brynjolf." She continued to remove her other boot.

"Well, you did just catch me sneaking about your home. Which is  _lovely_  by the way."

"It's barely furnished. Regardless…the nerves don't seem to be about being caught. Is it…me?" she asked, hesitantly.

"It might be. After all, lass…last we spoke, I  _did_  tell you I'd demonstrate another of my talents, if you'll recall. And I have to say, I'm a wee bit unprepared. I hadn't planned for the Thane to be a woman. Or you." He started to breathe easier, feeling his confidence approaching levels of normalcy again.

She laughed and threw the second boot towards where the first landed. "It'll not be necessary. Despite the state of disrobing that you now find me in, I'm not planning on being bedded by a Nord such as yourself tonight."

"Well, that  _is_  quite a shame, lass," he said as he walked towards where she sat. "After all," – he paused, kneeling in front of her – "we are quite near a bed."

"Yes…well…I don't think my husband would approve," she said.

"Your husband, is it?" he replied. He moved in closer to her, placing his hands on the edge of the bed, dangerously close to her thighs. "And just where is this husband of yours?"

"Well, I suspect he's likely in Whiterun by now considering we both left the College at the same time…me taking this detour to Riften. And since I've been here about four days now…" She paused, calculating the length of time in her head. "Yes, I'd say he's likely in Whiterun."

In the time it took her to determine where the man was, Brynjolf had moved to a crouching position in front of her, hovering inches in front of her face.

"Well then, Marieka, I'd say he's too far away from you to be of any use to you right now." His hand was at the crook of her neck, his thumb along her collarbone.

"I do enjoy the way you say my name," she said softly.

He moved forward, his mouth at her ear. "Marieka," he whispered, his lips brushing across her cheek.

"Brynjolf, I will not be bedded by you this eve," she said flatly.

His arms dropped to his sides as he fell back to his knees again and looked up at her sadly. "I must say lass…this is a great disappointment." He lowered his head on to her lap, resting on her like a pillow. He could feel her warmth radiating, breathing deeply to inhale her scent. "I may need consoling to recover."

"You are hopeless, Nord," she said, smacking him gently on the back of the head. He noticed that her hand did not move from his hair.

"There," he said, "that's the way. Make me feel better about losing this battle, lass."

From his vantage, he could see her face out of the corner of his eye. She looked wistful and stared into the darkness as she absentmindedly began to stroke his hair. He brought his right hand up towards the back of her calf and placed it there gently. She was so warm…everywhere he touched her. It was a change from the normally icy Nord women he'd bedded. His other arm meandered back above the bed, daring move up the fine skirts she wore to land on the side of her thigh. As he drew his right hand up along the back of her leg, it too came to rest at her thigh under the thick skirts.

He lifted his head off of her lap and looked up at her, as her hand finally fell away from hair she'd been running her fingers through delicately. The candlelight silhouetted her from behind, highlighting the elegant frame of her neck and shoulders. He again moved towards her, as if to kiss her, but stopped suddenly as he recognized a tear had fallen on to her cheek.

"Lass," he said softly, "why do you cry?"

She said nothing. He brought a hand out from under the skirts and reached up to wipe the tear from her face.

"I must rest now. It has been a long day. I trust you can find your way out, as you managed to find your way in."

She pulled away from him and moved up towards the head of the bed. In full dress, she slipped under the covers. She did not watch him as he kneeled there, unsure of what to say or do. She reached out to extinguish the candle with her fingers…leaving him in the darkness on all accounts.


	7. Brynjolf III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder...ahead there be dragons...of a smexi nature. Yeah, I dunno how this is going to go for any of you. I have found myself stumbling over words and having a really difficult time describing certain scenes. If it all turns out as well as it looked in my head – and trust me...it replayed incessantly, keeping me awake for hours 14 through 19 of my 30+ hours of being awake. Great…I can't get pixelated sex out of my head. Why am I still awake? Oh right...this Nord seems to want his story told.
> 
> Hey...I warned you it wouldn't be pretty.
> 
> While I'm deathly afraid of what a request for reviews/comments might bring, I think it's important for me to know what you think. Is this too much? Not enough? Do I absolutely suck as much as I think I do right now?
> 
> [insert standard disclaimer here...and possibly a thesaurus for all those ways to describe boy/girl parts]

As Brynjolf lay in his bunk in the darkness of the cistern, he listened to the water running through the cavernous expanse. It dripped and gurgled as it ran over the rough ground that served as its bed. He hoped that by focusing on the sounds that he'd be able to put  _whatever_  had happened at the Riften home of Marieka some hours before out of his mind.

Unfortunately for him, the quiet echoes of the water were doing nothing but allowing him to concentrate on exactly the thoughts he was trying to forget.

He closed his eyes and stretched out to the length of his bunk, placing one arm under his head, and the other on his chest. He breathed deeply and rhythmically, hoping to put himself into enough of a trance-like state that eventually sleep would overtake him.

Creaks and groans of the structure he and his fellow Guild members resided in were not helping at all.

Things seemed pretty hopeless.

He groaned quietly before throwing the arm that was resting on his chest up to cover his eyes.  _Right. As if covering my eyes will block these visions out of my mind…_

He pulled his arm from his eyes and was about to roll over when he felt a hand clamp down over his mouth and a breath at his ear.

"I wish to join your Guild. Teach me everything you know…"

His eyes shot open and darted to the figure crouched immediately at his side.

_Marieka!_

She moved a finger from her free hand up to her mouth to advise him to keep hushed before pulling her other hand from over his mouth. He flipped over on his side to look directly at her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just told you," she whispered back.

"You couldn't have waited until daylight?" he asked.

"Thieves work best under the cover of night. I thought it was appropriate," she said.

He sat up on his bed. He wiped at his eyes to attempt to refocus them to the dim light. He looked across to where Mercer normally slept and did not see the man in his bed.

"I'll take you to Mercer," he said. "It looks like we're not the only ones who are awake right now, lass."

She smiled in the darkness and stood as Brynjolf got to his feet.

They walked together until they arrived at the door of a small room off of the cistern that the leader of the Guild often worked in.

"Wait here," he said and she nodded her agreement.

He knocked at the door and waited for Mercer's response. The man opened the door and looked out. He saw Brynjolf and looked past him to see Marieka also standing there. He nodded at the man and allowed him entry.

Once inside, he explained Marieka's wishes – that she still wanted to be a part of the Guild, despite how long it had taken for her to return. Mercer was skeptical, yet intrigued. He saw the only solution to be her taking on her first job – a job that even the Guild's best members had not yet been able to crack. Brynjolf protested that it would be too much for her first attempt…that she could be killed. But Mercer ignored his pleas. If she were to join, this would be the job that would make her.

The two men exited the small room, and Mercer sent Brynjolf away while he explained the job to her. He watched from afar as she listened intently to him, nodding and apparently asking questions at points. Soon after, she gathered up the information he presented to her and headed back in Brynjolf's direction. He made to stand up from where he sat, but she caught his eye and motioned for him to stay.

"Good luck, lass," he called out quietly after her. "When you return, I'll teach you everything I know."

She smiled as she disappeared from his view.

_Gods go with her…bring her back to me safe…_

* * *

The hours dragged by.  _So many_  hours dragged by. Half the day had come and gone before she returned to the cistern again. But at least she had returned in one piece. She was injured somewhat, but nothing that couldn't be fixed up. He gave her his bed to rest in, and sat nearby the entire time she slept.

Mercer gave him suspicious glances occasionally, but he was pleased with the results of the job she completed, so he had no complaints.

When she awoke later, he watched her eyes flutter open. She was unaware of her surroundings for a moment, but then her eyes fell upon him and she smiled.

"So…am I a member of the Guild then?" she asked.

He nodded. "Welcome lass." He took one of her hands into his and smiled at her. "When you are ready…whenever that may be, I shall train you to be a better thief."

She sat up in bed. "I'm ready."

"Are you sure, lass? You were injured. You should rest," he suggested.

She shook her head. "No. I'm ready."

He took her throughout the cistern and into the Flagon…introducing her to all the members of the Guild that happened to be about. Some were wary. Most were warm. Almost all were impressed that she completed the job she was given at Goldenglow Estate. She was gracious to all for their welcome…even those who were not particularly welcoming.

"Come Marieka," Byrnjolf eventually said. "I have one last thing for you."

He brought her into a smaller room that sat between the cistern and the Flagon. He lit a torch inside the room and retrieved a set of armour that Tonilia provided him with moments before.

"This is for you," he said, handing her the armour. "You're one of us now."

She smiled up at him as she took it from him. He motioned to a screen in the corner of the room. "You can try it on over there, if you like."

A few moments later, she emerged from behind the screen in the armour.

"It's perfect," Brynjolf said as he looked at her.

"It's armour," she said, scrunching up her face.

"But it suits you, lass. Just as I think this life will suit you…whenever you choose it," he replied.

"I appreciate your help, Brynjolf," she said. "Annnd I apologize for just how long it took me to return. And about earlier…"

"No need," he replied. "You showed up and impressed. My reputation is safe for now."

She smiled. "So, you had some lessons in mind for me?"

He nodded with a sly smile. "That I did. And you're sure you're ready for them?"

"I am."

"Good. You obviously have a knack for certain types of thievery," he began. "But one of the ways I've always been so successful is up close and personal with a mark."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Of course. Using your wiles…your own charms against a mark is the easiest way to draw their attention from what you are doing. It also works defensively...it'll make it easier to recognize if you're being played," he explained.

"I'm not…sure what you're getting at," she admitted.

"Here," he said, "let me show you."

He approached her and stood behind her, wrapping one of his arms around her waist, as the other found her face. He caressed her cheek…her neck…and she leaned back into him. He breathed warmth across her ear and heard a soft sigh escape her lips. He pulled away quickly and she spun around, confused.

He lifted up his hand in front of her face…dangling the coin purse he had lifted from her belt while she gave in to his touch.

"Oooh," she said, appreciating his work. "Sneaky…"

He handed back the coin pouch to her. "Why don't you give it a go, lass?"

She looked at him through narrowed eyes, appearing almost contemplative. A few moments later, she stepped forward to him. She looked as though she appreciated the smirk on his face, rising to the challenge he presented her. She quickly placed her hands gently upon his chest, running them up towards his face. She had to stand on her toes to reach his height, yet somehow he found it endearing rather than clumsy. As her left hand moved across his cheek and found itself entangled in his hair, her right hand traveled from his face, back down his chest and under his arm, encircling him to land on the small of his back. She lightly pulled him towards her and brought her lips towards the side of his face. He felt them brush across his jaw, sending a shiver down his back. He became so focused on where her hands and mouth traveled that he had no idea if or when she'd managed to lift anything from him. So when she backed away from him suddenly, he began to feel around, assessing what might be missing.

He looked back at her to see her gripping his dagger between her thumb and finger. He shook his head and chuckled.

"Well done," he said proudly. "I'd never even noticed when your hand got close to it."

She smiled at him, returning his dagger to him. "This could be quite a bit of fun, I suppose."

"You've no idea, lass," he mumbled. "Doesn't hurt if your mark is fetching though. Some are more difficult than others."

"I'd imagine so," she agreed. "Not everyone in Skyrim is as handsome as..." She trailed off, leaving her unspoken word dangling in front of him.

"Don't say anything you'll regret," he purred into her ear, suddenly standing closer than she remembered if he judged by her reaction. Her eyes had widened, yet while she'd previously have stumbled backwards, this time she stood her ground.

"Perhaps you'd like me to attempt to steal something else from you today," she said, her voice a mere whisper. Even she seemed uncertain if she was asking him or telling.

"I'm not sure I could hold back over that again, lass," he replied. "It could be a dangerous proposition you make." He looked down at her as though she were prey, towering over her. Yet her refusal to step back made his breathing ragged and uneven. He'd no idea if she was deliberately teasing him, or if she was naive enough to believe that she were as innocent as she played.

She pulled the hood of her armour down slowly. "Then perhaps you'd be kind enough to give me that  _other_  demonstration you were on about last night."

Her words were honeyed and seductive. Like she'd become a different woman. Something in her had changed. Something she wasn't telling him. And it made him want her even more than he'd let on.

At first, it was a hunt. He was a Nord and a thief...and Nord thieves conquered...taking what they wanted. Yet for some reason, he was intimidated by certain things about her...how independent she seemed...the emotion she showed. Once, he'd only wanted to bed the girl…take her for everything she carried with her. Then…this…

Suddenly the amount of restraint he had shown was washing away, replaced only by the burning of lust in his core. He wanted her...and by the Gods, she seemed willing to return the favour.

Despite the mere inches that rested between them at that moment, Brynjolf wanted the gap closed. He reached out and took hold of the belts at her waist, pulling her near to him. She gasped at the sudden movement…more so when his fingers introduced themselves to her half-tangled hair, crashing his mouth down on to her exposed neck. He bit at her jawline hungrily; she'd make no mistake of his intentions. He refused to let go of the belt and held her exactly where he wanted her to be. This entire experience was going to go how he directed it to. He just wasn't sure what the feeling inside him meant when he began to consider how she'd feel about that. However, she seemed fine with it at the moment – he felt small hands pulling at the belts and buckles on his armour and smiled into her skin as she attempted – in futility – to undress him.

"Your armour," she panted, "is ridiculous."

He chuckled heartily as he loosened his grip on her belts and drove his hand under her thigh, pulling her leg up. Her calf and foot instinctively wrapped around his waist, and as he hoisted her up; her other leg mirroring the first's actions.

"You'll get used to it, lass," he breathed into her ear. "Yours is very similar."

"I…don't even know if I buckled mine correctly. I could possibly be confined to it for the rest of my days."

"You doubt my ability to break most locks," he said, his thumb deftly working its way from buckle to buckle, loosening the clasps on her armour. She continued to work clumsily at removing his armour, but before she had unbuckled two of his clasps, he was already pulling a second of her belts over her head. He'd been pleased that he'd managed to maintain control of his hold on her – it'd have been terrible to have dropped the woman in his arms. When he had returned his attention to her, he saw the frustration covering her face at her inability to undress him at any speed. "You're incorrigible, lass. Let me get it for you."

She loosened her legs' grip from his waist as he lowered her to the ground and swatted at him. "You'd best not insult me. You don't know much about me after all. Why, I could have a whole range of powers at my disposal that would tear you limb from limb. Or perhaps I have a hidden talent that could cause you death by a whisper." He continued to work at the remaining buckles as she spoke. He assumed she was getting at something with her comments, but he didn't pry. If there was something to tell, she'd tell in her way.

Though he considered just  _how_  much she was talking while all this happened. Any other woman would have been completely enthralled by now, putting their mouths to… _other_  uses. Yet he was actually _enjoying_  the banter as they disrobed each other. Or…as he disrobed them both, since her fingers were seemingly of little use in this endeavour.

When he finally dealt with the last clasp, he spun her around and pulled her tight to him. She leaned her head back into him, expelling a harsh breath as he pushed his pelvis against her. Rather than wasting any further time on the front clasps of the coat, he pulled it up and over her head, holding it above her with her arms still stuck in the sleeves. His free hand landed quickly at her hip and wandered across her abdomen; thumb slipping briefly beneath the waist of her trousers. As the hand drew a line from her waist to her breast, he discovered she wore nothing under the armour – and it thrilled him. He heard a hitched breath as she finally slipped free from the coat, her arms falling behind her head and encircling him in a strange contortion.

Brynjolf's head dipped lower towards her neckline; his lips brushing across her shoulder. Without warning, his mouth attempted mutiny…the most unwise words he'd spoken in his life, spilling from his lips.

"What would your husband think of this?"

He felt her immediately tense up, becoming motionless in his arms.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, Brynjolf!_

He cursed himself silently, awaiting a response from her. Hoping he didn't stick his boot in his mouth.

"My husband and I have an arrangement," she replied, spinning in his grip.

When she faced him, he raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue.

"And by arrangement, I mean that I'm ninety nine percent certain that I discovered my husband in bed with my housecarl," she said, looking away from him.

"Wait now, lass," he said. "Your housecarl? But you've only just been made Thane. And you said your husband had gone to Whiterun."

She looked back up at him, reaching up to grab a piece of her hair to twirl distractedly. "Well, I'm…Thane there too."

He laughed loudly. "It would seem there is  _plenty_  about you that I do not know.  _How_  are you the Thane of  _two_  cities?"

"I'm a bit of a do-gooder," she shrugged. "And apparently the Jarls impress easily."

"You'd best be careful, lass. That kind of stature tends to make one a target." He suddenly felt protective of her and his arms circled her form, pulling her closer. "So…what of the other one percent?"

"Hmm?"

"You said you were ninety nine percent sure about…" he trailed off, not needing to say it.

"Oh, right," she replied. "Well, there's always the chance that my husband has a twin I don't know of. Whose name sounds suspiciously like Onmund…"

He shook his head, smiling. "Marieka…you are…incredible. And I'm quite certain there's something about you that you're not telling me. Something that… _defines_  you."

She looked up at him, bringing a soft hand up to rest upon his face. Her fingers brushed the coarse stubble on his cheek and her thumb plied at his lower lip.

"Brynjolf," she said, "we've talked enough. Just fuck me."

He never required a second invitation.

He immediately threw aside his coat, and they both proceeded to free themselves of their remaining vestments. They finally stood stripped before one another; bared bodies and souls. He breathed in harshly and attacked. His mouth…hot breath…panting, was all over her at once. Bit at her neck…sucked at her breasts…licked from her knee to her inner thigh. When his mouth finally crashed into hers, he recognized his hunger. He felt her reach down between his legs and near melted when he felt the tentative touch of her hand.

Tongues and lips and  _teeth_  and fingertips on skin. By the Nine, he could no longer wait to be inside of her.

He pulled her on top of him and they crashed to the floor, half landing upon a spread-out bedroll. She no longer felt the desire to tease him and slid down upon him in a fluid motion. She rose up and fell down along his length, panting and moaning with him in synchronous harmony. She leaned forward into his arms and they rocked together until he flipped her on to her back and took the lead. As he thrust into her, she wrapped her legs round his waist, claiming him as her own for those brief moments. His mouth sought out her neck once more; gentle kisses alternating with animalistic nips.

They continued on until he was spent; he collapsed at her side. Full of sweat and sweetness. Breathing. Shivering. Satisfied.

* * *

They lay together in the small, dank room; comfortable enough in the dying torchlight. She lay upon her back, looking up at the uneven stone ceiling; he on his side, head propped up as he supported it with his elbow on the bedroll. His free hand traced intricate works of art that would never be seen on to her abdomen and she shifted uncomfortably every so often when he inadvertently brushed across a sensitive spot.

"Do you love him?"

She glanced over at him, knowing who he meant, but asking anyway.

"Onmund?"

"If that is your husband's name…yes," he said, brushing his fingers lightly across a breast.

"Yes."

"Will you tell him of this?" he asked. Not out of fear…or nervousness…just curiosity.

"No. I'll not bring him to Riften again. This part of my life…it's for me," she said, a piece of sadness echoing behind her words.

"You were married here…in the Temple, I assume." It was not a question.

"We were," she replied. A wistful smile settled on to her lips. "I don't know why he suggested we marry. He saw I wore that ridiculous amulet…and just…I don't know. We'd traveled together for some time by that point. Seen an incredible amount of death…and unhappiness. He told me how sad I often looked when we traveled. Thought perhaps that he might be able to offer me some happiness. And he has, don't get me wrong. I love him. I trust him with my life. He's defended me fiercely, from both physical and emotional attacks. But…I tend to think…"

She didn't continue.

"Do you think perhaps you made the decision to marry too hastily?" he asked.

"I think that's exactly what we did. He even said something about not knowing when our lives would come to an end. That we should be happy and have someone we knew would be at our side. And I agreed. I still agree, I suppose," she said.

"It's not what you thought it would be," he said quietly.

"Not at all," she said. "And now he finds comfort in the arms and bed of my housecarl, Lydia."

He wanted to end her troubles. But didn't know where to start.

"Have you ever married, Brynjolf?"

He shook his head. "No. And ruin my chance to bed so many women?"

She smiled. It set his heart to beat faster when she did. "Ah, and now I am counted among the ranks. Another notch on your bedpost."

"You might have noticed, lass, there are no posts on my bed. And you're no mere conquest, Marieka," he said.

"Say my name again."

"Marieka."

She closed her eyes as he did…the smile on her face widening.

His hand landed upon her collarbone, his thumb and fingers on opposite sides of her throat. It felt slightly possessive, but she melted into his touch. As her eyes opened and she looked to him, her expression saddened; the smile left her face.

"I'm sorry if you're looking for something more," she said, breaking his gaze. "I can't offer you love."

He closed his eyes and smiled, shaking his head slowly.

_I don't need love. I just need you…_

He took her hand into his, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss it softly.

She echoed his thoughts. "I don't need love, Brynjolf. I need…escape," she confessed, the words spilling out of her mouth as if they'd been waiting to do so forever.

He caressed her face; his rough hands surprisingly gentle upon her skin. She was trying to escape from more than just her marriage. She was trying to escape from some colossal part of her life that seemed to be consuming her. And he wasn't certain that he'd ever find out what that part was…

"I'll be happy to give it to you then, lass."

He was content to be part of the darker recesses of her life…one of her dirty secrets. He'd always lived his life in the shadows. The Guild would offer her escape from whatever she ran from…and so would he. Gladly.


	8. Belethor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been in Whiterun, then you must have run into Belethor. This guy always sounds so greasy and creepy, but I have a tendency to see the potential in people.
> 
> Also, I pick up a LOT of dragon scales and bones.
> 
> Hence…this…

It was hard to survive as a shopkeeper in Whiterun these days. Belethor leaned on the counter at his general goods shop, surveying his shelves around the room. They were much emptier than they had been the year before. Trade had slowed so much in the past few months; so much so that the Breton worried he'd be forced to let Sigurd go from his employ. Which was a shame, for the young man was always pleasant with customers, and did a wonderful job spreading word of the shop through the city.

He'd been fortunate enough that whenever he thought the doors of his shop would be closing for good, a savior would march their way into his store, making a large purchase or trading some rare item that provided a fortuitous windfall for the store's supplies.

And more often than not, his store's savior was the same person. The Breton girl who typically showed up every fortnight or so.

He had a feeling about her the first day she'd come into his shop. She was alone, looking weary from who knows what had befallen her before her arrival. She wore rags…essentially. Dirty and haggard, she browsed his shelves for a long time, before settling on a piece of light armour and a better pair of boots than the footwraps she wore. He felt sorry for her, but she wasn't the first traveler…or refugee…or fugitive that had passed through his doors, and she'd not be the last. He wasn't about to go giving a woman like her a discount just because she was down on her luck.

 _Everyone_  was down on their luck.

It was because of his resistance to provide special favours and give extra discounts to his patrons that most of the city's residents saw him as a sleazy swindler – only out for himself. It wasn't true. He may have joked about even selling out his own family members, but it was just to put a smile on the face of an unhappy person, browsing his wares. He wasn't  _that_  callous. Or crass. Or any other words that the people of Whiterun frequently used to describe him.

It didn't matter that he'd actually frequently given gifts of toys to the children that ran through the streets daily. Or that he'd provided supplies to some of his fellow business owners, even going so far as to build a rack for Arcadia to hang her dried herbal ingredients for her alchemy shop. He was kind…charitable…a good man…

Too bad he was the only one who seemed to see it.

Yes, Whiterun was definitely full of tough customers for a shopkeeper such as Belethor. Difficult to get, and even harder to keep. That group of warriors…the Companions…they were a tough group to draw in. But they were an important faction, and he fought hard to provide them with items they needed. In fact, the time the Breton first brought in pieces of dragon bone and scale, he put Sigurd in charge and ran the entire way to Jorrvaskr and its Skyforge to deliver the news to the smith, Eorlund Gray-Mane. The man immediately bought the entire stock of bone and scale happily, and had been a return customer of Belethor's since then. Yet he seemed to be the only one. None of the others…none of the Companions ever showed at his door.

Bah…what did it matter? He'd likely have to close soon enough. Business was not good. It wasn't getting better. And he hadn't seen the Breton girl for close to two months. With all the dragon bone she brought into the store, there was quite a real possibility that she had been finally slain by one. Or perhaps that she had moved on to another Hold in Skyrim. Or just found someone with better merchandise. Someone that could afford to give her a discount.

"Sigurd!" he hollered towards the back of the shop that doubled as his home. "Keep an eye on the place, would you? I need to get some air."

* * *

The Bannered Mare. How  _did_  he manage to make his way here? Belethor started out "getting air" as he advised Sigurd…working away at the woodpile behind the store for some time. He then perused the market stalls, eyeing the new produce and meat for sale…admiring the steel of the Grey-Manes. Yet, inevitably, his unhappiness led his feet straight to where he could drown the sorrow best. Hulda's tavern was the best in the city. Technically it was the  _only_  in the city, but no matter. It was a damn good place to get a drink. Or several if the occasion called for it. And the sad occasion certainly called for it that day.

If something good didn't come to his shop soon…that would be it. There wouldn't be much more he could do.

Naturally, drinking away your last few septims probably wasn't the best idea. But what were a few mere septims going to do for him anyway? He may as well have invested in some fine mead.

Several rounds passed before he realized he had poured his heart out to Hulda, letting the woman in on some of his darkest secrets – like the time he had overcharged a woman, followed her to her home to return the coin, and the caught her changing out of her clothes after he broke into the house. The door  _was_  open – he just didn't have the couth to knock first.

The woman had the patience of Akatosh. She listened to his troubles, poured his mead and didn't kick him into the streets. Yet, eventually, even she tired of his long tales of sadness and struggle.

He picked himself up off of his seat and headed out the door of the tavern. Unsteady legs led him into the moonlight. By the gods, he'd certainly been away from the store for a long time. He hurried – or at least  _thought_  he had hurried towards home, wobbling unevenly through the streets.

"You there!" a voice shouted.

He spun around, trying to find the source of it. He saw three guards. They all pointed at him.

"I'm of mind to arrest you for public intoxication," the three guards said.

Belethor hiccupped. "You don't have to do that," he slurred. "I live right over there." He pointed in a vague direction that covered approximately half of the city.

"That's it," the guards said. "You're coming with me."

"You mean 'us'," he corrected.

The guards made to move towards him, but three women stopped them.

"You don't need to do that," they said.

"Yeah," he interrupted. "Listen to these nice ladies."

The guards looked at the women. Belethor squeezed his eyes shut and refocused them when he opened them up again. "Hey…where'd the other guards and ladies go?"

The woman shook her head. "I'll take it from here."

"If you're certain, Thane," the guard replied. He continued on his patrol.

"Thane?" Belethor repeated. "You're a Thane?"

She nodded.

"Hey. I know you," he said, finally recognizing her. "You're the girl…the Breton…hey, did you know I'm a Breton? Because I'm a Breton. We have something in common. Do you come to my store because I'm a Breton?"

She sighed. "Belethor, why don't you come over here and sit down on this bench?"

He complied and flopped down on to the bench and looked at her. "I know you from somewhere," he slurred.

"Wow. You are… _really_ intoxicated. How much have you—never mind. You probably have no idea." She dug around in a pouch at her waist and pulled out a small vial of liquid. "Here. Drink this."

"What is it?" he asked. But before she could answer, he had already slurped the vial's contents completely.

"Oh!" She rubbed her forehead a little, hoping the liquid would straighten him out a bit. Coherence was a nice quality to have. "Well, it should hopefully help you see things a little clearer. And speak a little clearer. Perhaps help with your memory."

He shook his head for a moment.

"Better?" she asked.

"Much better," he replied. "This…this stuff is amazing. I need to sell this at my shop!"

She chuckled. "I'm sorry, but it's a secret recipe. Perhaps one day we can go into business together and we can sell it as partners. But not until I settle down and stop travelling."

"When will that be?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Only time will tell me that." She looked at him pensively. "You know, in all the time I've come to your shop, I don't think I've ever told you my name."

"No, you haven't," he replied. "I've just called you the Breton girl."

"You wouldn't be the first," she said with a smile. "My name is Marieka."

He scrunched up his face. "That's not a very Breton name."

"Well, I didn't pick it. My parents did. I think they smoked a lot of crimson nirnroot in their youth though," she replied.

He laughed loudly. "You…you have a good sense of humour."

"I practice a lot. I find a good skeleton or two and sit them in chairs. And I just  _constantly_  tell them jokes. If they fall over, then I know I've done a good job. And if they don't, then I kick them. Repeatedly. Eventually, they always fall over."

"You sure you're the Thane?" he asked. "I've never known a Thane that didn't walk around with a stick up their arse at least half of the time. The other half of the time, it's a  _big_  stick up their arse. A  _very_ big stick."

She smiled at him. "Turns out that all you need to do to be Thane is to slay a dragon. Did you know that?"

"Heeeey," he said, "speaking of dragons. You wouldn't happen to have any dragon bone or scales, would you? We are able to sell those so quickly that I can sometimes close the store for a week from the profits."

She shook her head. "Sorry…I actually just got rid of the last few not too long ago. They're very heavy you know."

He nodded. "Yes, they are. But don't you usually have that big muscly woman with you? Or at least the little scrawny man in the robes?"

"You refer to my husband," she replied, laughing.

"Well, he  _is_  scrawny."

"He's a mage! Of course he's scrawny," she said.

"Well, that's a shame about the dragon bits. Any chance you'll come across another one soon?"

"Oh, I can practically guarantee it. I can't seem to get to another city without one circling overhead and dropping out of the sky to welcome me," she said.

"Very good," he replied. "So then if you don't get killed by the next one, remember Belethor's General Goods is always open for you to sell them."

"Of course, Belethor. I wouldn't dream of bringing them anywhere else." She smiled warmly at him and stood up. "I'm afraid I must take my leave, fellow Breton. I must be off on yet another adventure very soon. Do take care of yourself. And don't drink so much. Things are never as bad as you think they are."

"I look forward to your return, dear Thane," he said gallantly. "Try not to die."

"Always." And with that, she turned and headed into the darkness of night.

* * *

As he opened the door to his shop, Sigurd immediately scolded him.

"Belethor! Where have you been? The store has been busy!" he shouted.

"Easy on the volume there Sigurd," he replied. "I'm working off some head pain right now."

"You smell like a meadery," the man said, disgusted.

"Well, there's good reason for that."

"Anyhow, the Breton girl was here today. She was looking for you," the younger man said.

"Yes, I just came upon her actually. She's quite talkative. And funny," he replied.

"And you forgot one more thing," Sigurd said. "Generous."

"What do you mean?" Belethor asked.

He hurried away and pulled out the bones and scales from what had to be three dragons, laying them across the counter.

"By the Nine!" Belethor exclaimed. "What kind of coin did you give the woman for all these? We can't have had enough!"

Sigurd shook his head. "She just… _gave_  them to us. Came in, asked for you, and when you weren't here she said that she thought you'd appreciate them."

The shopkeeper's jaw dropped wide open. The world had a funny way of helping one out when they needed it most.

Or perhaps that was just one of Marieka's finest qualities.


	9. Onmund II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sick right now. So after a full day of being sick to my stomach, not eating and trying to sleep, this chapter was born. Everyone needs to take it easy on Onmund…he's really a nice guy. ;)

Mere moments after he had settled down at the table for a few bites of freshly made stew, a tremendous crash from the upper level of Breezehome caused him to jump from his seat and hurry upstairs.

"Love?" he called. "Marieka, are you all right?"

Onmund ran up the stairs, taking two at a time and turning quickly at the top to open the doors to their shared bedchambers. When the doors had opened, his eyes beheld a sight he did not expect. Marieka was underneath a tray of uneaten food, dishes, and had managed to entangle her arm into the back of a chair.

He rushed to her side, carefully extracting her arm from the chair back and picking up the items that had crashed to the floor. He helped her to her feet and made for her to sit on the edge of the bed before kneeling in front of her and looking up at her.

"Marieka, what happened?"

She looked down upon herself and frowned, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. "I just…I wanted to get up…to try to eat. But I leaned on the tray and it began to flip…and I tried to grab it…and I tripped and fell into the chair. And I…"

He shushed her and took her hands into his. "Oh love," he said. "You are too weak to be walking around. You need to stay in bed. Here…let me get you something to change into."

She was covered in broth and water and some sort of liquid concoction that he had managed to brew up for her earlier in the day. It would do her no good to remain in the nightclothes that she was in. The furs and covers of the bed were safe from her catastrophic fall at least. He found a dressing gown – warm and soft – in the dresser in the corner of the room. He helped her out of her soiled clothes and into the gown. She looked up at him and smiled weakly.

"Thank you, Onmund," she said quietly. "I haven't been very useful lately."

"I'll hear none of that," he replied. "You're ill and you need to rest. Don't even consider going off and adventuring around until you are feeling completely back to normal."

He helped her back on to the bed and laid her down so she was as comfortable as she could be, then sat at the edge of the bed next to her.

"And you'd best stop putting the fire out. You need to keep warm," he scolded. He lifted his hand up in the direction of the hearth and summoned flames to his fingers. A few moments later and a small fire filled it, warming the room. He pulled the covers up over her and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

"I'm so hot though," she pleaded.

"You're feverish," he replied. "You need to let the sickness out, but it won't happen if you keep kicking your covers off and extinguishing the fire. And you need to eat."

"I've tried," she said. "I have attempted to eat everything you've brought. But even your potions will not stay down."

He frowned. "Shall I try another mixture? Perhaps some garlic and juniper berries this time?"

She shook her head. "No, I just…I think I need to sleep again."

"Of course love," he replied. He stood up and made to leave the room.

"Onmund," she began, "if you have nothing terribly pressing to do at the moment, would you please stay?"

He smiled at her. "I will. Just let me bring these dishes down to the kitchen and I will be right back up to sit with you."

He collected the dishes and reminded himself to bring up a cloth to clean up the spill. As he made his way past the small room in which Lydia slept, a feeling of something…guilt, perhaps, welled up within him. There had been several occasions that the two had laid with each other as his wife had been off travelling. He'd yearned for Marieka's affection, but she was not there to give it to him. Lydia had seen the looks upon his face…the loneliness…the sense of longing. She confronted him regarding his feelings and they had discussed them – at length.

The first time, Marieka had been gone for almost a month. He'd not had an idea of how long she had planned to be away…or if she even yet lived. At least when she'd gone with Lydia, he had a sense that the women would watch each other's back; they'd be safer. But his wife had taken to travelling on her own more often – times when she advised him she needed to be stealthy. Or if someone she'd tasked herself to help would prefer to tag along with her instead. And so he'd be forced to return home, to sit and wait until she returned.

"You are lonely," Lydia had said to him out of the blue one day.

He looked at her and nodded. "I miss her. I  _worry_  about her."

"She can certainly take care of herself, Onmund," she replied. "You should know this better than anyone."

"Of course," he replied. "But that doesn't prevent me from worrying that she has finally found a foe to best her."

As the conversation continued, he opened up to the housecarl, letting loose so many of his fears and wishes. She made no moves to lead either of them to the position where they would ultimately find themselves that night. Yet, when they ceased their words, Lydia left to ascend the stairs to her room; and Onmund – for whatever reason – followed.

She stopped at the top of the stairs and he nearly ran her over as she turned to face him.

"Do you need something?" she asked.

"What…what do you mean?" he replied.

"I am housecarl to my Thane. I am charged with protecting her when I am with her. But I am also instructed to take care of her home when she is gone. You are part of her home. Do you need…taking care of?"

The question was not loaded. There was no seduction. No sweetness. It was practical. Business-like. The woman was tasked with a job, and she took it seriously. He suspected that she may have stretched her job description a little far in certain directions, but he… _needed_  the touch of a woman. He wanted his wife, but she'd not been there to provide it. He did not love Lydia. Never even considered the thought.

Onmund nearly tripped up the last step as he ascended towards the woman, grabbing her by the waist and placing hungry, hurried kisses upon her lips. There was desperation in the way his hands fumbled over Lydia's armour, attempting to remove it while the two staggered together towards her bed. The second they'd entered the room, he pushed the door closed and slammed her against it. His thoughts kept floating to Marieka…comparisons between her and Lydia. How much taller the Nord was…her muscular form compared to Marieka's small and soft frame. The roughness of Lydia's touch and her powerful nature – a bittersweet contrast to his wife's subservient response to him when they were together like this.

He stepped back from Lydia for a moment; put his hand to his forehead.

"Onmund, what's wrong?" she asked.

"I…I don't know if…" he began, but shook his head to clear his mind of her. He needed this release. He worried constantly about his wife…it was all he could do to hope and pray that these few moments would allow him to just  _stop thinking_  about her.

His eyes met those of the woman in front of him and she pulled him back towards her. In moments, their clothing was tossed aside in favour of being wrapped in the other's embrace.

And suddenly, he found himself in the present…in the kitchen, still holding the dishes Marieka had spilled to the ground. He placed them down on the table and staggered back a moment, reeling from the memories.

"Marieka…what do I tell you?" he mused aloud. He roughly ran a hand through his hair before picking up a cloth to return upstairs.

When he arrived at their room, she had fallen asleep. He quickly cleaned up the mess and piled her soiled clothes into a basket in the corner. He started for the door of their room again, ready to head downstairs, but thought better of it. He instead closed the doors, and then returned to their bed, gently lowering himself on to it next to her.

It was here that he was reminded why he'd fallen in love with her in the first place. Her vulnerability…her humility. Before she was Dragonborn, she was simply Marieka. Her confidence had grown by leaps and bounds in the recent months, but he couldn't fault her for it. She'd have died at the hands of some bandit or soldier or dragon had she not allowed it to happen. But it was becoming harder to see that woman underneath her increasingly cold exterior ever since she left the monastery of High Hrothgar.

He reached out to stroke her hair, softly and gently. She stirred slightly and her eyes fluttered open.

"Where's Lydia?" she asked quietly.

"I've sent her off for the day. To give her a change of scenery and pick up supplies," he replied.

"Good."

His heart leapt into his throat as her eyes closed again and she fell back into sleep. He wondered if she knew. He  _suspected_  she knew. For one of the nights he lay with Lydia, he thought he heard something outside of the Nord's room. And Marieka had returned that night, several hours later. She was lightly intoxicated, but brushed it off as being due to a celebration upon her return. The next day, she had dragged Onmund back off to the College, and when they'd completed their task there and eventually headed back to Whiterun, they'd separated on their journey home. She told him she had business to attend to in Riften, and he hadn't questioned it at the time. Though now, he could only wonder what brought her back there.

Had she a confidante to confess that she had seen him with Lydia in the most intimate of embraces? Had she perhaps even taken a lover of her own, to work through the pain?

He breathed a deep breath and looked back down at his wife. Weak and on the verge of breaking. It was at this time when he was able to display his true feelings to her…to remind her that he loved her. Would always love her. Even when it may not have appeared that way.

Perhaps one day he would summon the courage to tell her. To confess what he had done by succumbing to his primal needs. And at that time, maybe she would be able to admit the same. He prayed to Mara that it would not change things between them.

After all…they stood together in the face of danger when it counted the most. They faced down adversaries and had each other's back. And to be honest, he wouldn't care if she took a thousand other physical companions…so long as he was the one she loved.


	10. Adrianne Avenicci

The sun had risen over Whiterun several hours prior, yet long shadows still covered the entrance to Warmaiden's in darkness. For that, Adrianne was thankful. Long hours in front of the forge and furnace were not pleasant under the heat of the midday sun. Though she'd never seen herself in any other life.

She wasn't the best blacksmith in the city, but she was proficient at it, honing her skills to always improve. She had good supplies and good pieces of equipment to use as well. It was doubtful she'd ever run out of business in Whiterun.

Wiping her brow, she stepped back from the tanning rack to look at her latest piece of leather. It would do well for some armour or perhaps a shield. But it could wait until she had some rest. It had been an exhausting morning, as orders had arrived from the Jarl's court for additional equipment for the city guard. She likely had her father to thank for that. After all, what Steward wouldn't promote his own daughter's handiwork to his Jarl? Proventus had been a strong proponent for her work, and she'd never been found wanting for contracts once he had been made Steward to Jarl Balgruuf.

As she dabbed a rag across her brow, she looked north up the long street towards the market of Whiterun. It was a busy day. People milled about here and there; children ran through the city playing with their friends. She smiled to herself, thinking back to her younger days when she had no cares and did the same. But that was a long time ago, and she could no longer afford to have such flights of fancy. She continued to stare up the street until a door opened at a neighbouring home. It was the home of the city's newest Thane.

The woman, Marieka, frequented her shop quite often enough; selling various weapons, or purchasing armours. They never spoke very often however, as she typically dealt with Ulfberth, her husband. She loved him with all that she was and he worshipped the ground that she walked on. Her father had worried about her when she decided to marry the man – not every Nord was willing to put up with an Imperial such as herself. But the two were madly in love and overcame the many obstacles that their partnership placed before them.

Before her thoughts drifted too far into memory, she saw the small Breton exit her home and look around. The woman immediately noticed Adrianne was outside and waved. She waved back, thinking it odd that she'd acknowledge her at all. Stranger still, she began to walk in her direction. She was coming for a visit.

"Lovely morning, isn't it?" she said when she arrived at the door of Warmaiden's.

"Certainly is," she replied. "Listen, Ulfberth is inside if you need—"

"Actually, Adrianne," she interrupted, "I'm here to see you."

"Oh?"

"Well, you might have noticed that I travel quite a bit," she said.

"Yes, you do," the blacksmith replied. "And you bring us some interesting pieces upon your return."

She smiled. "I face some interesting foes. But the reason I'm here is…well…"

Adrianne waited while she hesitated. She looked nervous.

"I wanted to ask you for some help. Maybe…train me a little at what you do?" she finally blurted out.

"You want me…to teach you how to be a blacksmith?" she asked, skeptical at the suggestion.

"I certainly don't want to replace you, if that's what you're thinking," Marieka replied. "I just…I want to know enough for when I'm out on the road. Enough to be able to take care of my equipment. Repair it if necessary. Things like that. I'd still come here whenever I'm in Whiterun. Oh! And I'd pay you for your time, of course!"

Adrianne mulled the idea over for a few moments. It couldn't hurt. And in slim times like these, extra coin was always welcome. She shrugged.

"Why not?" she replied.

The Breton squealed with glee, as if she were a child receiving a present.

"This is fantastic! When can we start?" she asked.

She had expected the woman to be excited, but her enthusiasm was a little overwhelming.

"Tell you what," she began. "I've got several orders to complete this afternoon, but you're welcome to come back after dinner. The forge will be cooler by that time, so you won't be overheated."

"That sounds perfect! Thank you Adrianne! I look forward to it," she replied, hurrying back home.

As Adrianne stood and watched the woman leave, she hoped that she wasn't getting in over her head. She'd never trained anyone before, and was concerned that this whole thing would be a disaster.

* * *

An hour had passed since Marieka had returned to Warmaiden's for her first training session with Adrianne. She suggested they start from scratch – melting down ore to create an ingot. Simple enough.

She demonstrated the smelting process, melting down some silver ore and pouring it slowly into the mold to create the ingot. Marieka watched intently as the woman showed her what to do. Though when it came time to pour the melted liquid into the mold herself, she allowed it to fill too quickly and the mold overflowed to the ground.

_By the gods! This girl is daft!_

"Perhaps smelting isn't your strength," Adrianne suggested, pulling her away from the furnace just before the hot liquid silver that was pooling up near her foot reached her boot.

"I'm sorry," Marieka said. "I…I'm really nervous about this."

"It's okay," she replied. "You'll get the hang of it."

She performed marginally better with the forge. At the very least, she was able to produce a blade from it. They started small – a dagger of steel. She heated the ingot, poured it into the mold – at a much more acceptable rate this time – and then hammered at it to form it properly.

"Not bad," Adrianne said. "Now try sharpening it."

The two women moved towards the grindstone. She showed the Breton how to carefully hold the blade's edge next to the stone while pressing the pedal to spin the wheel. Unfortunately, the blade she created herself was not strong enough to stand up to the stone, and it snapped in half as she attempted to sharpen it.

"This is hopeless," Marieka cried out in exasperation. "I knew this was going to be a challenge, but this…"

"Now just wait a minute," Adrianne interrupted. "Did you expect to be able to do this all on your first try? That's a little insulting. It's taken me years of practicing…of honing my skills to get where I am right now."

Marieka sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to imply that I could pick the skills up so quickly."

"Here," she said, handing Marieka a blade that she had created earlier in the day. "Try sharpening this one. Just go a little slower. You're in too much of a hurry with everything."

Ashamed, she took the blade and sat in front of the grindstone. She began to press the pedal to spin the wheel, and as the woman advised, slowly applied pressure to the blade against the grindstone. She dragged the blade along the stone a little at a time, sharpening the edge roughly. When she had completed both edges, she handed the blade back to Adrianne to inspect.

"Well now," she replied. "See, this is an improvement. Right here on this side, it's quite rough." She pointed to the first edge. "But as you move to the end, and then on the other edge, the blade becomes finer…sharper. There's definitely improvement here."

Marieka's face lit up at the positive comments. "So, I'm not hopeless then? You think some practice will help?"

Adrianne smiled. "Yes, I think you might be able to sharpen your own blade for yourself when you need to…one day."

"Excellent!"

"The sun's going down quickly," Adrianne said. "And I'll need to get inside to help Ulfberth close up the shop. Perhaps we'll call it a day?"

She nodded in agreement. "Thank you again, Adrianne. Oh, and as promised…" She held out a coin pouch with the agreed amount. "There's a…little extra in there for the materials that I was quite certain I would go through. Please let me know if you require more. I know I was a bit of a disaster."

_A bit?_

"Of course," the Imperial replied. "I'm sure I'll see you soon."

"That you will," Marieka replied before hurrying home for the night.

Adrianne chuckled to herself. _Now_ _ **that**_ _was an experience…_

* * *

As the sun's rays filtered into Adrianne's bedroom window the next morning, she stretched and tried not to wake her husband as she exited her bed. She wrapped a robe around herself, poured herself a mug of goat's milk and headed downstairs to step outside to greet the morning.

When she opened the door to step on to her porch, she heard a strange noise coming from the side yard where all of her equipment stood. She grabbed a dagger from the wall inside the door and inched her way across the porch to see what the noise could be. As she reached the end of the porch, her eyes fell upon a small form in front of the grindstone.

"Marieka! By the gods! What are you doing?" she exclaimed.

The Breton spun around with a large smile upon her face.

"Practicing!" she called out happily.

_Oh for Zenithar's sake!_

Today was going to be a long day.


	11. Brynjolf IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of people don't necessarily find dialogue interesting in a story, and so many authors apologize for writing so much of it when it happens. But I adore writing dialogue for these two – their quips and innuendos rock my socks. I will not apologize for writing their dialogue. Ever.

"Where is that bloody Nord?"

Mercer's voice echoed through the cistern's expanse as he threw open the door that led to the Ragged Flagon.

"Brynjolf! Where the fuck are you?" he growled.

The 'bloody Nord' in question lifted his head up – barely – from staring into the rippling water in front of him. He lifted his hand up to signal his location to Mercer.

"I'm over here, Mercer. Now quit hollering at me," he replied.

"Oh," he snapped back. "We're just going to laze about with our little toes in the water, are we? Do you think coin rolls into this place because we put on a smile and ask it nicely to?"

"Well, actually," Brynjolf began, "I do have some success with that."

"Shut up," Mercer demanded. "Black-Briar's got her boot on my neck about your dainty Breton recruit and _you_ need to find her!"

He sighed and scratched at his neck distractedly. "I haven't seen her for weeks, Mercer. I've no idea where to find her."

"Word is she's back in town. Spotted going into her house. And considering thieves tend to _not_ use keys…or the front door, it's got to be her," he snorted.

_Marieka? Could she really be back in Riften?_ He hadn't counted the days since she'd left. No, it was nothing like that. But he also hadn't exactly made himself available to the women of this Hold since she'd left either. Not the way he used to. That girl had a rein on him that he didn't want to admit to – yet, he knew it wasn't love. Perhaps that's what made it all the more enticing. A strictly physical relationship that would come and go as it did. _If_ that's the way it was to happen. He had no idea if she'd even wish to see him again. Her intentions were not clear enough when they last spoke.

She left several days after their last encounter. But their interactions since the night she joined the Guild were…apprehensive at best. She seemed distant. Perhaps even a little regretful. He couldn't read what little emotion she allowed to creep on to her face. At the very least, she spoke to him. It wasn't as though she had completely abandoned communication with the man. Yet none of it was what he expected after the moments they'd shared.

Brynjolf suddenly felt a sharp slap to the back of the head.

"Gods!" he exclaimed.

Mercer crouched down next to him and roughly grabbed his shoulder. "When you're finished daydreaming, perhaps you could get your arse off the cold stone and at least _fake_ that you're paying attention to my request."

He grabbed the back of his head angrily and looked at Mercer. "I'm _going_." He lifted himself up from the edge of the walkway and headed to the chest that rested at the foot of his bunk. As he unlocked the chest and rifled through its contents, he could feel Mercer approach him.

"Tell her not to fuck this one up," he cautioned. " _You_ know how important Maven is to the Guild. If anything goes wrong…"

"I'll tell her," Brynjolf replied without taking his eyes off of the contents of the chest. He eventually found what he was looking for and replaced the lid, locking it up tightly. He wondered why he bothered to do this – anyone in the Guild worth their salt would be able to get in anyway. But he hoped at least that there was enough respect among thieves that they'd never dare.

* * *

As he emerged from the underground of Riften into the daylight, Brynjolf shielded his eyes from the sun that was shining more brightly than usual. The fog that typically covered the city in a thick haze had burned off completely, and though there were clouds in the sky, he could count them on one hand. He meandered slowly through the streets, dallying far longer than he should have. If Maven Black-Briar requested the presence of Marieka, he should have made a greater effort to let the woman know. Yet there was uncertainty in his step; hesitation to meet with her again. What would he say to her? They'd not known each other long enough to become friends, yet he found his way into her bed…figuratively speaking. He didn't regret it…not a moment of it. He merely hoped that they hadn't gone so far as to not come back. He wanted to be her friend. Or…was it something else that drove him to her?

_This is ridiculous…_

He scolded himself for acting like a man much less mature and experienced than he was. He was always able to leave feelings out of any 'relationship' he'd gotten himself into. And it seemed that she _wanted_ to leave feelings out of it, but for some reason, the feelings were intertwined so deeply in this that he couldn't peel a single bit of them away. It was strange…this _thing_ he'd found himself in.

In the market, he caught the eyes of several fellow thieves. They were out in force that day, following marks and studying shops for later use as targets. A slight nod or an aversion of eyes was all that was necessary to show their respect to the upper levels of the Guild. It was something that Brynjolf always thought gratuitous, nevertheless was appreciated. Something that he needed to remind him he was still useful. Perhaps it was that very reason that drew him to Marieka – she found him worthy of her time. Like he was still _relevant_. Young lass like that certainly didn't need the approval of an old man like him. He chuckled in spite of himself; if Vex caught him waging this internal war with himself over his age, she'd gut him.

"You're not _that_ bloody old, Brynjolf," she'd remind him. "Sure, your bones break easier and you're starting to creak when you climb the stairs, but you're not dead."

Ah, he regretted not bedding that one in his time. Not that she'd have let him.

He rounded the corner of the Bee and Barb…the corner than put Honeyside into his sight. He continued on over the bridge that crossed the canal that bisected the city, considering just how he'd enter her home. He could use the back door as he did when he didn't even realize it was hers, or…

He could knock. What a novel idea…he wondered when he'd done it last. Most places he visited ended up being accessed through a broken window or with a lockpick. This was almost…civil…

And why not? This was a civil visit. There was nothing particularly dark about it. He could deliver his message during the day. He'd not have to be with her when she _went_ to Maven. No, this was merely a friendly appointment between associates. Friends, even. So he went to the front door.

And stood there.

He lifted his hand to knock at the door, but stopped.

_What am I going to say to her?_ He scratched his head with the raised hand. _I don't have to say anything. I just have to deliver the message. Whatever else is said, will be said…_

And with that, he knocked.

Nothing more than a few seconds passed as he waited, but each felt like an entire epoch has transpired. Ready to turn tail and retreat from his mission, he heard the creak of the door handle as it slowly turned to reveal…

…a woman he had _never_ seen before.

"Yes?"

"I…am…" He backed up for a moment, eyeing the house in front of him suspiciously. "This _is_ the house of the Thane, is it not?"

"Yes," the woman replied. "You address her housecarl. Now what can I do for you?"

"Of course," he replied. _Her housecarl…_ "I seek an audience with the Thane. Can it be granted?"

"It could," she began, "if she were here."

"Oh," he replied, disappointed at the news.

The woman continued to stand in the doorway, almost annoyed at the man's presence.

"Is there…something _else_ I can do for you?"

"Perhaps you know when she'll be back?" he suggested. "Or better yet, would you mind if I waited for her here? I have an important message to deliver to her."

"No."

"So…no to the first or the second?" he asked.

"Nord, you are infuriating," she growled. "What is your message?"

"Well, I cannot give _you_ the message. It is only for Marieka," he said. "Are you sure I cannot wait?"

"No." The door immediately closed.

Brynjolf sighed and made to turn around. As he began to walk away, he heard the door open again.

"What is your name?"

He turned back around. "Brynjolf."

"Well, why didn't you tell me that in the first place? Come. Come in. You cannot wait inside, but there are some comfortable chairs on the porch. I will bring you something to eat," she said.

Somewhat dumbfounded by her sudden change of heart, he followed the woman into the home. She led him through the Breton's bedchamber, and his memories of the night he broke in to find her flooded back. The door to the porch opened and he went through it.

"Here, have a seat, Brynjolf," she said. "My name is Iona. If you need anything, please call for me."

"Wait," he said. "Why did you change your mind about letting me in?"

"Thane's orders," Iona replied. "Though she neglected to mention how handsome you were."

As he sat down, the woman immediately turned around and headed into the kitchen to retrieve some stew and mead for the Thane's guest. When she returned to the porch with it, she said nothing as she placed it on the table next to where he sat. He nodded in appreciation for the hospitality, and she again went into the house, closing the door behind her.

He looked down at the stew she'd brought him. It smelled appetizing enough, the faint whisper of beef and braised vegetables wafting to his nostrils. He took a bite and shrugged. Tasted good enough for him. Better than some of the slop he was sometimes served in the Flagon – not that _that_ said much. But it was tasty. A few mouthfuls of stew and some mead later and he came to the realization that he still had no idea when Marieka would be returning home. Though as Iona appeared to be uncertain of that fact as well, he'd not bother the woman again.

After he finished the meal the woman brought him, he stood up and looked out over Lake Honrich from the porch. She had a fantastic view and he felt almost jealous that he couldn't share it with her. He imagined she'd have absolutely incredible opportunities to view the sun setting over the lake, hoping one day he might be able to catch one or two of those sunsets himself. He looked down towards the water, noticing how clear it was that day. It was amazing what the sun could do to Riften. The normally glum and depressing cityscape was transformed as the sun shone down, sparkling in the reflection of the water and glinting off of the windows of the nearby buildings. In the lake, he could even see fish…whitefish, or perhaps some salmon. He also took note of a large slaughterfish swimming nearby – nasty, those things. He reminded himself to ask her permission to use the boat he saw tied up to her dock sometime. _Ask her permission?_ Oh yes, there was definitely something about this girl.

As Brynjolf gazed across the lake, taking in the natural beauty of the lands that surrounded Riften, he lost track of the time that had passed. If not for the change in shadows on the ground, he'd have thought no time had passed at all. About to turn around to return to his chair, he heard shuffling from the path that led to the dock. He leaned over the rail of the porch to attempt to see the source, and eventually the source came into view.

Marieka was returning home from wherever she had been that day. He was just about to call out to her as she stopped near the boat, but her actions stopped him completely. She threw down her staff and packs and began to pull her gauntlets off. Her boots were next, followed in quick succession by her coat and trousers. Brynjolf raised an eyebrow as she stood on the dock in her underclothes and bent forward to pick up the articles of clothing she'd removed. She placed them all into the boat and seconds later, she dove straight into the water. It had to be frigid – the temperatures in Riften did not lend to casual swimming. Yet she bobbed in the water, seemingly wiping away at her skin. He only noticed as the dirt began to come off of her, but she was filthy. Covered in…something he couldn't tell. It wasn't mere dirt…but soot perhaps. Ash?

When she emerged from the water, he could see her shiver and she quickly retrieved her items from the boat and made her way to the stairs. He wasn't sure whether to stand there as she approached or hide, so he chose the most logical position and hurried to sit back down.

As she reached the top of the stairs, her eyes widened at the sight of him.

"Brynjolf!" she exclaimed. "I…wasn't expecting you."

Her teeth chattered incessantly.

"Lass! What happened to you? You're soaking wet and freezing!" he replied, standing to greet her.

"Yes, well…I'll be right back," she said and hurried into her home. A few moments later, she returned without her clothing and gear, but partially wrapped in a large blanket.

"So…what brings you here?" she asked, still shivering and barefoot.

He approached her and pulled the blanket tighter around her. He rubbed her arms through the blanket in an attempt to warm her. "Lass, you really shouldn't be out here like this. You need to dry and get changed."

She nodded and noticed the empty bowl and tankard that sat on the table. "Have you been here long?"

"I've barely noticed the time passing," he replied, as she held the door to her home open to him. He walked through and into the bed chamber. "Can I start a fire for you in here?"

She shook her head. "Won't be necessary," she replied, holding out a hand towards the hearth. As the flame spread from her palm to the logs in the hearth, they caught and the room lit up. Its warmth began to radiate almost immediately.

"Ah, a talent most unappreciated," he said.

She smiled. "Give me a moment, will you?"

"Of course," he replied.

She walked towards the kitchen and he could hear her speak to Iona.

"Please, take the rest of the day off, Iona. I'm sure you have family or friends you must not have seen for some time."

"Of course, my Thane. Will you be all right?"

"Yes, of course. In fact, why don't you take the night and the morning of tomorrow off as well? Return as you see fit."

Brynjolf's eyebrow rose at her words. Just what did she plan to be up to for the next day?'

He heard some shuffling – he assumed it was Iona preparing herself to leave – followed by footsteps and the closing, and _locking_ , of the front door. The soft padding of Marieka's footsteps eventually returned to the bedchamber and he leaned back suavely against the wall from where he sat on a long bench.

"So…giving the housecarl the day off, are we?"

"Yes, well…she's been guarding the house while I've been away. And now that I'll be here, it's only right that I give her some time to herself," she replied curtly. "I suspect you believe I have other intentions."

"Me? No," he replied. "Wouldn't dream of thinking otherwise."

"So, you're here for a reason," she said, absently dropping the blanket to fall around her ankles. She picked up a much smaller blanket nearby and began rubbing it against her hair to dry it. He couldn't help but notice that her underclothes were not leaving much to the imagination. She may as well have been naked for the dark mass of hair that showed through or the nipples made hard by the freezing water that made their presence known under the thin cloth. He felt himself stiffen at the sight. He licked his lips to prevent his rapidly drying mouth from sticking together as he thought of what words he wished to speak to her.

"Brynjolf?"

"Yes, lass?"

"Are you going to tell me why you're here?" she asked. "Or were you just planning on staring at me until my clothes were completely off?"

He smiled slyly, recognizing she'd caught him. "How I've missed you," he said.

"And I, you," she replied. "But that still doesn't change the fact that you apparently have something to tell me." She removed the blanket from her hair, now wildly strewn about her head from the attempts to dry it. She bent forward to retrieve the large blanket from the floor and offered him a tantalizing view of her breasts as they spilled forward from the cloth that covered them.

He expelled a breath sharply through his teeth. "Yes…I bring a message from Maven Black-Briar. She wishes to see you."

"Maven?" she repeated, readjusting the blanket to cover her completely. "What does she want with me?"

"I've no idea. She never tells us what she wants; only _who_ she wants," she replied. "And she apparently wants you."

"She doesn't seem to be the only one," she quipped sharply, motioning towards his belt. The hardness in his trousers was becoming quite obvious.

"Ah well, you see, lass," he began, readjusting his position. "You can't just come waltzing into your own home with nary a stitch of clothing on when there's a visitor about."

"It _is_ my house," she reminded him.

He stood and approached where she was, standing in front of her. "Of course," he said, his finger falling to the narrow piece of cloth that sat between her breasts. "And yet, here we are."

"And where exactly is that?" she asked, looking up at him. "Because, I'm not sure if we were clear on that when we last saw each other."

He stepped back from her. "Do you…not wish me to be here?"

"Brynjolf, if I didn't wish you in my home, would I have advised my housecarl to allow you entry?"

He sighed. "Woman, you give nothing but mixed signals!" he exclaimed in frustration.

"I'd prefer you not to think my bed is so easy to enter," she replied with a smile. "And isn't the thrill of the hunt more enticing?"

The way she narrowed her eyes at him was…so seductive. Everything within him told him to attack the girl…to pounce on her and make her succumb to the yearning that had accumulated in the weeks since he'd last seen her. But he held back and merely took one step towards her. He took her chin in his hand and lifted her face up towards him.

"Glad to have you back, lass."

"Now go…get out of here while I change out of these wet things," she scolded. He exited her room and fell heavily into a chair in the kitchen.

"Do you wish for me to wait?" he asked.

"Yes, actually," she called out from the other room. "I need to stop by the marketplace for some supplies. Would you join me?"

He looked around the kitchen, his eyes settling on the very well-stocked pantry. "Uh…supplies? If you're sure you need them. Of course I'll join you."

"Good," she replied. "I could use a big, strong Nord like you to help me carry my purchases."

He shook his head. He didn't think he'd ever figure the Breton out. "You know, you never did tell me why you were all wet."

"Jumped in the lake," she replied. "I was…dirty."

His chuckling to her response prompted her to stick her head out of the door while she finished changing. Her hair at least had been tamed.

"Well, I was!" she replied. "Covered in all kinds of soot and…I mean, just dirt from…I was just dirty."

She entered the kitchen, mostly dressed and carrying her boots. She sat in the chair across from him and pulled one on. He eyed her as she began the arduous task of tying it up.

"Soot? From a fire?" he asked.

"No, I mean, just dirt," she replied quickly. "Listen, it doesn't matter. I needed to get clean. Why do you care?"

He shrugged. "Just heard about some recent dragon attacks 'round here. One of the local farmers lost their entire crop of potatoes a few days back. And some cattle. Tough times."

"Oh."

"I just wouldn't want to hear that you'd been involved in something like that," he said.

"It's lovely to know you care so much, Brynjolf," she said, pulling on the other boot and tying it up.

"I'd miss you, is all," he said, albeit uncomfortably. "I mean, you have to admit, lass…we did have some fun that night."

"That we did. Well, you've no fear. I wouldn't get myself involved in such things. I have trouble enough with wolves and bears and _normal_ wildlife in my travels," she said.

"Speaking of which," he replied, "why are you travelling alone again?"

"I haven't had a chance to hire anyone to come with me to Riften yet," she said quietly. "I can't very well bring…"

"No, of course not," he replied, knowing who she alluded to. "Yet there are plenty of sellswords who'd gladly watch your back. Myself included."

"You're no sellsword, Brynjolf," she replied, finally sitting up in the chair. "Besides, your place is here…with the Guild."

He sighed. She was right. There weren't too many places in Skyrim that would be willing to take on an old thief. And it was comfortable here in Riften for him. People tended to look the other way where he was concerned – at least as long as he didn't cross them.

He watched as she stood up and opened a strongbox on the shelf. She retrieved a small coin pouch and turned back to face him.

"Ready?"

He nodded and stood.

"Good. For it's a beautiful day in Riften, and I can think of no one else I'd rather spend the afternoon with," she said, smiling widely at him.

They exited the home and she locked the door behind them. She stood next to him for a moment, considering where to head first.

"Perhaps I should stock up on potions and the like first," she suggested.

He immediately placed his hand at the small of her back and she looked up at him. She gave him a small smile before taking her first step forward. It seemed that she simply appreciated his touch, if nothing else.

They walked around, browsing at the shops both near the canal and above the pier. She was a discriminating buyer, using her wits to ensure she received a good deal, yet never really swindling any of the shop keeps either. She was fair. He supposed it was due to the fact that she was Thane – she couldn't be seen as duplicitous or deceitful by the people she represented. Or at least that was the way a Thane was _supposed_ to behave. Marieka was probably the first Thane in a long while to _not_ behave in an unsavoury manner.

As her packs quickly filled up, they began to make the journey back through the market slowly. He relished in her company, simply enjoying her conversation for the time. He sensed that she didn't seem to be in a hurry to return home either; and so their steps dawdled.

At several points, Brynjolf's guard was raised as he noticed people quietly standing to the side as the pair passed, watching them. Some whispered to each other. He became concerned for a moment, not wishing to discredit her position in the city. A Thane with a common criminal was likely not a proper sight; yet he wondered how many of them knew that she was also a thief.

He shook off the worry and continued to walk with her. Just as he was about to ignore the looks and whispers for good, a pair of guards approached them quickly. They were cornered on the walkway where they stood, as other guards came up from behind them.

"You!" one of the guards shouted, pointing at her.

Brynjolf's hand was immediately at his dagger, ready to defend her if need be. But no one paid him any mind. All eyes were focused on Marieka.

"You were at the attack. You helped take down the dragon," the guard exclaimed.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "You're mistaken."

"No," came a voice from behind. "I was there too. We all were. We saw what you did."

She spun around and looked at the guards as they stood round her. None of them had weapons drawn. Brynjolf was nervous, but more so confused. _What do they want?_

"Look, I'm sure this is all a case of mistaken identity," he interjected.

The first guard who had spoken ignored him, and approached her carefully – almost reverently. He took her hand and looked at her as she practically recoiled in horror. "It was you. You are the one the rumours have spoken of. I'd never have believed it if I didn't see it, but you…absorbed it!"

She pulled her arm back from the guard and pushed past them. Brynjolf followed close behind, nearly knocking the two guards to the ground. When he reached her, he grabbed for her arm and pulled her back. When she spun around to look at him, he saw it. Fear. Her eyes were full of it.

"Marieka," he said. "What…are you?"

She stood frozen for a moment, looking at him.

From behind him, the chatter from the guards rose up until it formed a single clear word…

"Dragonborn…"

She squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of it. She yanked her arm away from him and ran. As fast as she could, she ran.

Leaving Brynjolf, once again, standing alone in the crowd.


	12. Brynjolf V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger folks. Really. But I had to break this whole thing into two. And this portion has taken me forever to get through. I found myself stuck on a particular scene. I think you'll know which one when you get to it.
> 
> Yup. I'm trying again. Seriously...it didn't start out this way, I promise you.
> 
> So s'more sexual situations. Go easy on me. This one's pretty near and dear to my heart because it's the first time I haven't skipped out on a lot. Good grief…I hope it turned out better than I expect it did.
> 
> Oh, and that dreaded conversation! Why does everyone need to know about the past?

It was the second time that day that he had found himself standing at Marieka's doorstep…hesitating. To be honest, he wasn't even sure if she were inside. He hadn't chased her when she ran off after the confrontation with the guards. He didn't think that would be what she wanted. He wasn't even sure if she'd have wanted him there at that moment, but he had to try. She couldn't be alone – it wasn't right.

Is this what she had been running from since he'd met her?

He moved towards the railing that allowed a view of Lake Honrich and leaned against it, staring off at nothing in particular. The day that had been beautiful, clear and full of sunshine was starting to change – a typical occurrence for Riften. He could see the clouds rolling in across the lake, headed towards the city. Soon enough it would be raining and the fog would form again, ushering in the darkness of night.

He turned around and stared at the door again. He doubted she'd even respond if he knocked. He looked up towards the sky for a moment, wondering why he kept debating about this. He should just…knock.

As he looked ahead down the path between Honeyside and the bunkhouse it neighboured, he noticed something moving around in what appeared to be her property's side yard. He inclined his neck to the side to see past the obstruction of a small stone fence, but whatever had moved was gone. Creeping quietly towards the yard, he quickly crouched down until he reached the fence. Slowly, he stood up to peer over the fence to see… _a chicken?_ Talos, he was chasing a chicken now? He shook his head, but as he watched the bird briefly, he noticed its surroundings. Marieka had a small garden full of vegetables and flowers – no doubt useful in both cooking and alchemy. He surveyed the plants when one caught his eye. Its petals blazed the colour of flames and it appeared to have a small bird flying out of its centre. It was something he'd rarely seen, especially in Riften. He walked towards the plant and snapped one of its stems off. He wasn't going to be romantic…and he didn't know if she was the type of woman who liked to be presented with gifts of flowers, but by the gods, if he could take her mind off of what had just transpired for a moment, then it would be worth it.

He returned to the front door of her home, took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Not too loudly, but not quietly enough to be missed. When some time had passed with no response, he tried again. Louder this time. More insistent.

Still nothing…

"Marieka!" he called through the door. "I know you're in there. Please let me in. I just want to talk to you…"

_Actually, I don't know if you're in there. If I really wanted, I could let myself in. And to be honest, there are a few things that don't involve talking I could think of if you really want to forget what happened…_

He gripped the flower in his hand loosely as he continued to wait.

"Come on, lass. I still have your supplies from the market out here."

He fidgeted nervously, trying to avoid the gaze of a passing guard.

Yet still…no answer…

He pressed up close to the door and lowered his voice.

"Marieka. Please."

The sound of shuffling could be heard from within.

"Go away, Brynjolf."

He heaved a sigh of relief. _At least I know she's here…_

"Why won't you let me in, lass?" he asked.

A pause...

"Why do you need me to let you in? Why don't you just break in like you did the first time?" she spat through the door.

"Ouch. That one hurt."

"So tell me you don't deserve it," she replied.

"I'm not saying I didn't," he said.

He pulled away from the door slightly. She continued to remain silent.

"Can I at least bring your supplies in? If you don't want me to stay once I've done that, then I'll go," he offered. It would at least give him a chance to try… _some_ thing…

Several long moments later, the door handle turned and the door slowly opened. She stood inside, holding the door open, but did not look at him. He bent over and picked up the supplies he'd been carrying for her when she'd run off from him and entered the house.

"Thank you," he said. He looked at her – her eyes were bloodshot. She'd had plenty of time to cry. He hadn't immediately gone to her home after she ran. Instead he found a bench in the market and sat down on it, replaying what had happened. Gods only know how long he sat there.

Rather than commenting on the obvious, he continued into the house. Despite not having any idea where anything was supposed to go, he began to unpack her purchases, finding new homes for each of the items along the way.

He tried not to notice as she all but glared at him from the door.

"I suppose you aren't going to be leaving anytime soon," she said, though not necessarily to him. Without waiting for his response, she pushed the door hard, letting it slam shut.

As he continued to place items where he saw fit, he noticed that she was shadowing his movements and correcting their placement in frustration. He smiled to himself and stifled a chuckle. He didn't mean to laugh at her expense, but her movements had all been accompanied by groans and growls that he couldn't help but find terribly charming. Eventually she grabbed a rather small phial of some sort of concoction out of his hands and pushed him aside.

"Just… _leave_ it," she hissed through her teeth.

He attempted with all he had in him to keep a straight face when she glared at him, but his façade was starting to crack. She stopped with clenched fists and looked at him dead on.

"Oh, this is funny now?"

"I have to admit, lass…it is a little bit funny," he replied.

She growled and looked away from him, suddenly noticing the flower he'd placed on the table.

"Well aren't you just _full_ of jokes today?" She picked up the flower and shoved it into his face. "How could you? After everything you just saw, how could you bring this in here?"

She looked to be on the verge of tears; her lip trembled as she stared at him.

"Marieka, what's wrong? I…what do you mean? Do you not like flowers?" he sputtered, uncertain why she was enraged over the flower.

"Dragon's tongue, Brynjolf? Really?" she exclaimed. "Out of anyone, I never imagined that you'd be so cruel."

"I didn't know that's what it was…I wouldn't have brought it if…" he whispered hoarsely, letting his statement fall incomplete.

She tossed the flower to the ground and stormed off towards her bedchamber, but he reached for her arm and caught her by the wrist before she made it out of his grasp. As gently as he could, he grabbed her other wrist and pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her in place. He felt her anger manifest into shakes and sobs as she protested his hold and beat her small fists against his chest.

"I didn't want you to know…you weren't ever supposed to know. This was going to be my one place…my _one place_ where I was just a girl. Just a Breton girl. Why does this curse have to plague me like this? Why can't I just be…"

Her voice trailed off as she wept into his chest. Her fingers gripped his coat tightly and she would have collapsed to the floor had he not held her up. He felt helpless. What answers did she seek? Was he even to be the one to give her those answers? She was pouring her heart out to him and he couldn't even come up with a single word in response.

So he continued to hold her tight. He ran his hand lightly atop her head, stroking her hair softly. Gods, it felt incredible to be so close to her again. Under better circumstances perhaps…it could have been so much more.

He leaned his head forward, bringing his mouth close to the side of her head. "Marieka…I'm sorry…"

She continued to sob and began to shake her head.

"No," she said quietly, trying to force back the tears. "No, it's not your fault. I shouldn't have…my anger, I shouldn't have taken this out on you. I'm the one who should be sorry."

He pulled back from her, placing his hands at the side of her face. "You take out whatever you need to on me. You remember that, lass. I'm here to be whatever you need me to be."

She closed her eyes as he pulled her under his arm and led her to a nearby chair. He sat her down and retrieved another chair for himself, pulling it directly across from where she sat. As he sat on the edge of it, he leaned forward and took her hands into his. She looked back up at him.

"I didn't mean to yell at you. You've always been so kind to me. What a way to repay that kindness," she muttered.

He shook his head. "Aye lass, but you forget that I was going to rob you blind when we first met."

A glimmer of a smile met her lips. "Yes, I remember."

"See now, that's better. You're so pretty when you smile," he said, placing a hand at her cheek momentarily.

"Brynjolf, I…I didn't want to tell you what I was. I never wanted you to know," she said sadly.

"Why? Why didn't you want me to know?" he asked.

"Because, you…never expected anything beyond what you saw. You treated me _normally_. You don't look at me like I have another head. You don't look at me with fear in your eyes like some of the others do…as though I'm going to shout them to death just because I can. Even…" – she paused, sighing – "…even Onmund can't help but look fearful most days. It's never the same once people know. And I didn't want things to change. I was _happy_ with the way things were."

"Things don't have to change," he said. "Nothing has to change at all."

"But it will," she protested. "It always does."

"Marieka…look at me," he said. She looked into his eyes, nervous about what she'd find. "Do you see fear? Do you see anything there that wasn't there before?"

After a moment, she shook her head.

"And what makes you think that will change tonight? Or tomorrow? Or a fortnight from now?" he asked.

"I just…"

"Listen," he interrupted. "I told you I would give you the escape you needed. And I meant that. Don't go running from me now, just because I know something more about you than you wanted me to. I'm here for you, Marieka. I will be as long as you need me."

Without a second's hesitation, she stepped from her seat and leapt towards him, throwing her arms around his neck; her legs landing on either side of his. Her lips claimed his immediately. Shocked by her action, it took Brynjolf a moment to reconcile what had just happened, but he quickly recovered. He felt her hands move up into his hair as his moved to her hips. She placed hurried kisses on his neck, pulling herself closer to him, but then…stopped.

He felt her forehead drop to his shoulder, and he pulled back from her a bit. He placed his hand on the back of her head gently.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She looked up at him. "Nothing," she replied. "I…I should go to Maven. She'll not like to be kept waiting any longer than she has to."

"No," he began, "I suppose not." He paused as she lifted herself off of him awkwardly. "Perhaps you'll stop by the Flagon when you've finished with her?"

"Oh," she said, disappointment in her voice. "I…suppose I could do that."

"Lass, you don't have to if you don't want to," he advised.

"I guess I just hoped that…you might stay here until I returned." Her eyes were full of something he'd not seen for a while from her. Hope.

"You don't mind?" he asked. "Because to be honest, I'd rather not head back there yet. Mercer's in another of his foul moods and I'm liable to have my head bit off if I return with no news from you about Maven."

"I don't mind at all. Provided you don't steal anything from me," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. For a moment, he thought she was serious. It was then that he realized she _was_.

"Ah, I lost my desire to do that to you a long time ago," he admitted. "Besides, you're with the Guild now. We don't cross each other. That's not the way of things."

She smiled briefly. She looked down and picked up the flower that she'd thrown to the ground earlier. "I'm sorry again about…this," she said. "This was a…very nice gesture. It is a really interesting flower."

"It seems full of secrets," he replied. "Just like you."

"We all have our secrets, Brynjolf," she said. "Some of us just aren't as lucky about keeping them."

He reached out for her hand and squeezed it as she stood in front of him. "Good luck with Maven," he said. "I'll be here when you get back."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

Sometime after Marieka left to meet with Maven, Brynjolf had finished putting the rest of her supplies away – hoping at least that he had found better homes for them than previously. He wandered around her small home, eyeing some of the items she'd collected since she purchased it. There were all manner of interesting weapons and books and scads of alchemical ingredients about the house.

She was hardly here – he had no idea why she had so much _junk_ just laying around. He considered that she was lucky she had joined the Guild. Place like this would have unquestioningly been a huge target.

He continued to look around, his eyes falling upon her bed. It looked incredibly inviting and he pushed down on it a little. It gave way as he applied pressure to it, yet it did not yield completely. It was tempting him to crash down on to it; to stretch out across it and just rest. And why not? With Maven Black-Briar, Marieka could be gone for hours, sent off on some ridiculous task to satisfy the woman's whims and demands for immediate resolution.

He lowered himself until he was sitting at the edge of the bed. It _was_ comfortable. Much more so than the bunk he slept in nightly. Or rather, tossed and turned in nightly. It couldn't hurt to close his eyes for a few moments while she was off meeting with Maven. But it wouldn't do to keep his boots on. He'd dirty the linens – which would be incredibly rude of him. He eased them off and placed them against the wardrobe. He pushed himself further back on to the bed, lifting his legs up and extending them across it. As he stretched out, he lay back slowly, his head landing on a soft pillow. The bed was an experience that he rarely had; only finding it during rare conquests of particularly wealthy marks. Riften's walls didn't hold many of those anymore, and as second to the Guild, he rarely travelled. This… _this_ was an experience he was treasuring.

There was a small fire in the nearby hearth that spread warmth throughout the room, and as he lay there, his eyes closed. He put his arms behind his head and sighed.

_I could become accustomed to this…_

* * *

_I didn't want to tell you what I was. I never wanted you to know._

His eyes opened.

He had never felt so warm and comfortable in a long time. He was under a blanket and furs, and the dim light of burning embers caught his eye. He rubbed at his eyes, yawning a little and began to take in his surroundings. Then he remembered where he was – Marieka's bed. Oh, he was right about this bed. He had no idea how long he slept, but the bed was so comfortable, it felt like hours. He rolled over and could see no light filtering in through the windows, so night had fallen at least. He continued to roll and his eyes fell upon her form, silhouetted by the light of a dying candle. She was partially under the cover, with a fur draped over her shoulders. Still in a seated position, a book lay in her lap, but she had long since fallen asleep while reading it. He smiled, thinking it was likely something she did often. Her head was slumped over after her neck had given up on holding it straight. Strands of hair shimmered where they lay across her face as weak candlelight beside her and the fading fire in the hearth merged and their light danced shadows upon her.

Carefully, so not to disturb her, he elevated himself slightly, moving the book from where it sat on her lap and placing it on the bedside table. He slid his arms under her back and her legs, easing her down until she was no longer sitting, but laying down with her head on a pillow. The sleeping robe she wore barely reached her lower thighs and was tied loosely at her waist, causing him to start momentarily when he noticed. Her breath sputtered quietly and she moaned a little in response to the movement, but quickly settled back into sleep. He thought to leave her there so she would sleep, and slipped out from under the covers.

As the fire died, so too did the heat from the room. Brynjolf noticed a small pile of logs piled next to the hearth and moved to pick some of them up to rebuild the fire for her. When he had managed to position them so they had caught, the flames grew a little, brightening the room. The light seemed to elicit a response from her as well, for he heard something of a whisper from her direction. As he stood up, he turned and looked at her, sleeping sweetly. Again, he turned to leave, but hesitated when he thought of the robe she barely wore. And the hours that remained until her housecarl returned to her.

It was _too_ tempting for him to consider leaving any further…

He moved back towards the bed, unfastening his coat and removing it. He tossed it to the floor as he pulled back the covers and entered the bed beside her. He moved close to her, listening to her near-silent breathing; paying close attention to the rise and fall of her chest. It was mesmerizing. Brushing back errant strands of hair that insisted upon falling into her eyes, his hand lingered on the side of her face. He drew his finger along her jawline and up to her mouth, tracing along her lips softly. His fingertips fell back down to her neck, finding the edge of her robe and tracing it down towards her chest; his hand lightly resting upon her breast. She stirred at his touch; permitting a sigh to escape her lips.

He brought his lips towards her face, kissing her tenderly at her temple. As his breath ghosted across her skin, he moved his lips down her face and kissed her cheek. He continued moving lower down her body, kissing her jawline…her neck… He crouched low over her and pulled back the robe exposing her shoulder, and his lips also found their way there. He moved back in towards her, placing another kiss on her collarbone before bringing his lips in between her breasts. He heard her breathe in sharply at the very moment he felt her hands bury themselves into his hair. He looked up at her face and their eyes met.

"Brynjolf," she gasped and he smiled in the dim light.

He placed his hands on the bed on either side of her, repositioning himself over her and straddling one of her legs. He hovered above her for moments, when he thought he felt her tugging on his hair effectively drawing him back towards her. He quickly obliged. Propped up on one arm, he pulled the tie of her robe completely undone and moved the edges of it away from covering her. He looked down upon her, the firelight flickering just bright enough for shadows to play across her exposed body. Diving back down to place kisses across her breasts, his hands roamed purposefully. One hand guided his mouth; the other traced lines up and down her side. She twitched and shuddered in his grasp. Her squirms drove him to further action, and his kisses soon blazed a path down her belly.

Brynjolf reflected on how quiet she was at that moment; he'd never known her to not speak and supposed she was still attempting to come awake fully from her slumber. Yet when she _did_ whisper his name between the panted breaths, it sent a tingle through him all the more. It was as though she spoke to the very gods themselves. As he lifted himself over her, he found himself in between her knees. His hands moved to her thighs, gently plying them apart. She offered little resistance and he felt her shiver in response.

From his vantage, he looked up the length of her body at her. Her fingers had gripped the head of the bed and she looked back at him while he paused. Her eyes were wide in anticipation, uncertain of what to expect. He moved in, kissing along her inner thigh as he went; the heat from her core emanating on to his face. He could sense her apprehension in the way her muscles tensed against him. He was well versed in using his mouth to appreciate the female form, yet he recognized that this was clearly new territory for her. When his tongue found its destination, she gasped. The cry was like music to his ears and he continued to prod at her intimately while she squealed with delight. When he pulled back to catch his breath, he felt her hands pull him back in.

_Well now, lass…it would appear you might be enjoying this…_

She had all but wrapped her legs around his neck when he began to make his way back up her body. Her small hands grasped at his skin, pulling him quickly towards her. He reached down, loosening the belt and clasps to his trousers, pulling them away from his waist. When she saw him struggling with his clothes, she reached down to help push them away from him. She appeared anxious; desperate to have him close to her. Through both of their efforts, he managed to free himself of the trousers and immediately tossed them aside. She had pulled her arms out of her robe and wrapped them around his neck. He kneeled in front of her as she pulled herself up towards him and her legs encircled his waist. Their mouths met and he kissed her with a renewed hunger.

Brynjolf saw no further sense in delaying the inevitable. He slid into her, holding her hips and pushing into her as far as he could. Her head fell backwards and she cried out – it was near a growl. It sent a nervous excitement coursing through his veins and his pace quickened. It was only the second time they had joined like this, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world. He squeezed her to him as he continued to thrust into her; the two falling back on to the bed. She looked into his eyes as he hovered above her, reaching up to wipe sweat from his brow. The way she looked at him...submissive... _obedient_...as though she'd do _any_ thing he asked her. It pushed him over the edge and headlong into release. He shuddered above her, grunting with a final push. He held himself over her as long as he could; finally falling down on the bed beside her.

When their breaths stabilized, he looked over at her, reaching out to take hold of the hand that she rested on her stomach. She replied to the movement with a smile.

"I...phew," she breathed heavily. "I've never...I mean...Onmund has never..."

"Careful, lass," he interrupted. "Comparisons lead us to tread in dangerous waters."

"It's not meant to compare," she replied. "He simply has never...done that..."

Brynjolf looked up at the ceiling, a sly smile spreading upon his face. "Is he your first, then?"

Despite not looking at her, he could tell she shook her head.

"No," she said, emphasizing that she'd responded non-verbally. "I was fifteen the first time. There was a boy that I grew up with in Wayrest. A year or two older than me. He was the son of a local fisherman. I..."

He sensed her hesitation. "Go ahead."

"I was very...fond of him. So there was one night that he asked me if I would lay with him. And I was madly in love with him. Why would I have refused?" she recalled. "It was awkward...and _terrible_...and after...he ridiculed me. I was...devastated. He'd broken my heart. I vowed that I'd never let myself fall in love so easily again."

"And did you?"

She pondered for a moment. "No, I don't think so. Marriage came a little too quickly, I think. But love? That was quite natural actually."

"It often is," he said, a hint of regret in his voice. "At least, when you know enough to understand what love is."

She propped herself up on an elbow and looked at him. "You told me you never married. But perhaps I asked the wrong question. Have you ever been in love, Brynjolf?"

"Aye," he said softly, glancing at her. "That I have."

She waited for him to continue. He didn't.

"I won't pry," she advised, "but, should you wish to discuss it..."

"Marieka, I don't mean to be evasive. I just..." His voice trailed off and he was thankful she took it as a signal to not push. Instead, she moved closer to him, curling her small frame under his arm. She pulled some of the furs up to cover them both. He leaned toward her, placing a careful kiss on her forehead. "Why did you come to Skyrim?"

"The College," she responded. "I didn't want to just join the Mages Guild in High Rock. I wanted to learn. Perhaps even one day teach magic. And, I suppose to escape. I've always been running from something."

He didn't ask what she ran from – he'd learned enough of what she was trying to escape that day.

"I suppose I should be happy that you haven't run from me, lass," he said.

She squeezed him tightly. "You are who I run to...not from."

He returned her embrace and sighed. "I've learned not to hold regrets, but I wonder what would have transpired had you come to Riften before Winterhold."

Their eyes met and he knew instantly that she understood where his thoughts were leading. But instead of responding, she changed the subject.

"I...have been considering that I should speak to Onmund about...this."

"Are you sure that's wise?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "I think he wonders. And I don't want him to. And I don't want him to feel guilt for what I know he's done. I want him to know that it's okay and that I understand. And then, perhaps we can discuss other things."

"What other things?"

"Whether we should remain," she began. "I believe...I mean, I _think_ we should. It feels that we should. But perhaps that's not for me to decide. Perhaps he wishes to choose another path. And shouldn't he be given that option?"

He looked at her for a moment, stunned into silence. Despite all her indecision, her clarity could be astounding at times. How does one with so little experience seem to exude wisdom in matters such as these?

"Perhaps that course of action is wiser than I thought," he finally admitted. "And where does that leave us?"

She sighed heavily. "I'm afraid that is a gamble. If he wishes for me to stay...and to end this...what choice have I?"

"There's always a choice, Marieka," he advised. "Whether we make the right one is another question altogether."

Silence overtook them. Her crisis of conscience began to weigh heavily upon him. In the very real chance that the worst case scenario occurred, this...relationship...whatever this was...would be over. He wasn't certain if he was fine with that. To him, that indicated that something was happening regarding his feelings for her. Those feelings that weren't supposed to have existed in the first place. And he wondered if what she was considering meant that she had started to develop some feelings of her own.

Her words from earlier in the day took on new meaning as they echoed in his head.

_I didn't want you to know…you weren't ever supposed to know._


	13. Farkas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that this isn't the way the quest works out. I am well aware of that. Just a little creative license I'm taking.

The moment the girl walked into the hall of Jorrvaskr, he knew that he had seen her before. It took some time, but Farkas eventually recalled where he remembered her from. Months ago, the Companions – of which he was a part – were tasked with responding to a complaint from Severio Pelagia. The man reported a giant had been harassing him and attacking him as he worked on his farm. He'd not been able to work the land for weeks and his cabbage crop was close to eradication. Aela and Ria joined him, making the short hike south to the farm to investigate and ultimately deal with the massive pest.

As luck would have it, Severio had noticed the giant had a particular pattern, and shortly after the three arrived at the farm, it wandered on to the man's property just as he predicted. It was a fierce foe and despite their incredible prowess in battle, gave the Companions some trouble. The gargantuan creature caught Ria's leg with its massive club, hobbling her and sending her reeling backwards. With its attention on the wounded woman, Aela seized the opportunity to launch a volley of arrows, striking her target several times in its leg. Farkas was also able to attack the giant, moving in close and slicing a swath down its back with his broadsword.

While the two weaved in and out as if in a dance with the huge creature, a crackle of energy hurtled past Farkas' ear, striking the giant in its chest. His concentration thrown, he spun around to see a young woman in the distance – apparently the source of the magic. He returned his attention to the giant and they continued to battle with it until at last, one of Aela's arrows struck it in the throat. The great creature staggered for a moment, gasping for breath before crashing unceremoniously to the ground. Farkas leaned forward, regaining his stamina following the skirmish, but Aela seemed invigorated by the presence of the stranger.

"You there!" she called out.

The woman approached the pair warily. "I apologize if I intruded," she said.

"Nonsense, mage," Aela replied. "We welcome your assistance."

"It appears your friend may require more," the woman said, motioning to wear Ria writhed in pain. "I know some healing magic. It will not be perfect, but I may be able to ease her pain enough to allow her to walk with assistance."

Aela nodded, permitting the woman to pass them and approach Ria. The two watched as she knelt down before the Imperial, carefully examining her leg. She looked back over her shoulder at them. "I'm Marieka, by the way."

"Aela. This is Farkas and the woman who doesn't much care for your introductions right now is Ria," she said with a smirk. Ria shot her an angry look as she winced from the pain.

"While it is lovely to meet you, I will need some help. Farkas? Can you please hold her still? I will need to set the bone."

He quickly approached the two, crouching behind Ria and helping her sit back against him. With his hands on her shoulders, he looked up at Marieka and nodded. He got a very good look at the markings on her face. Where Aela painted marks across her face before battle, this woman had a pattern of dark colouring around her eyes and on her chin permanently. He thought it strange that someone would choose to mark themselves in such a manner that would endure.

She nimbly repositioned the snapped leg and immediately summoned a healing spell to ease the woman's pain. Permanent growth of the bone would take much more time and she was spent from the attack on the giant, so she looked around for something she could reinforce her attempt to mend the leg with. Finding nothing truly suitable, she requested that Farkas attempt to split the giant's club to create a splint. He obliged and she quickly secured it to the woman's leg.

"I would recommend that you try to keep your weight off of that leg as best you can," Marieka advised Ria, who nodded, looking very grateful for the assistance. She looked at Aela and Farkas. "Are you heading to Whiterun?"

They both nodded.

"I'm headed there myself. Would you mind if I joined you? I can perhaps help carry what Ria cannot," she suggested.

Farkas looked at Aela who shrugged at him. "Don't see why not," she replied. "Ria could certainly use the help."

They prepared to leave for the city, but not before Severio showered them with praise and coin. Farkas helped Ria to her feet and acted as a crutch for her, allowing her to hop alongside him for the duration of the journey home. Marieka was true to her word, carrying Ria's weapons and gear, despite treading awkwardly from the additional burden.

"You know, Marieka," Aela began, "we could use someone like you."

"Oh?" she replied. "Do you three often find yourself out fighting giants?"

"There are many more than three of us in Whiterun," Farkas said. "We are a group of warriors and hunters. Our order has been around for generations. A fighter must prove their worth to become a Companion."

"If you're interested, come with us to Jorrvaskr. Speak to our Harbinger, Kodlak Whitemane. He will judge you worthy if you are suitable," Aela suggested.

But the woman parted ways with the three when they entered the gates of the city. She'd apparently changed her mind to have shown up without warning, so many months later. It was definitely her. Farkas would know those markings anywhere.

He eyed her from afar, watching as she looked around and tried to get someone's attention. She approached the hall's caretaker, Tilma. The weathered old woman listened to her speak then pointed across the hall – in the direction of Kodlak Whitemane. _So she_ _ **is**_ _here to join us…_

Farkas was uncertain that she would be suitable. He knew of the tests that she would face. And while she was obviously a capable mage, he'd yet to see her use any steel. Skill in battle was not always dependent upon combat in close quarters, but the Companions were fighters. They brawled; they did not depend upon the conjuration of magical properties from their fingertips. He just didn't see how she would even want to be a part of this group. Yet, here she was…presenting herself for inspection.

Kodlak summoned Vilkas to his side. There it was; she was to spar with his own brother to test her mettle. When Vilkas reached Kodlak, the elder man spoke to him briefly. The expression on Vilkas' face spoke volumes. He was obviously not impressed by the small woman; didn't believe she'd make an impression upon him even if he gave her the opportunity to do so. Still, he humoured the man and headed for the training yard behind Jorrvaskr. She followed behind, staring straight ahead. She dared not make eye contact with any of the Companions within the hall.

The curiosity of Farkas got the better of him, and he too followed the pair out to the yard. In fact, he was not alone. Several of the others found that their footsteps let them outside as well. They observed from a distance, standing upon the covered terrace as Vilkas handed Marieka a sword and demanded she attack him. She appeared awkward and inexperienced; swinging wildly at the man and missing her mark completely. Vilkas goaded her, all but laughing at her attempt. A few more swings yielded similar results and the man chuckled heartily.

"Perhaps this isn't the life you're looking for, girl," Vilkas said. "We're looking for someone who can hold their own."

She handed the blade back to him. "I'm sorry I wasted your time," she said quietly, her voice carrying much further than she probably wished it to.

Farkas looked down at the ground as she spun around slowly and began to walk shamefully away from his brother. Vilkas was far crueler than he needed to be in some situations and he felt sorry that the man had put her through the public humiliation. As she followed the path that would lead her away from Jorrvaskr, Farkas felt compelled to speak to her. Perhaps she did deserve a chance. He pushed through the crowd of onlookers and hurried down the steps.

"Brother! Where are you off to? Certainly not to follow that whelp, I hope," Vilkas called out as he passed him.

He ignored the man, quickening his steps in an effort to catch up to the woman. It was not difficult to do so – she dragged her heels as she walked; her emotion showing in her gait. He rapidly caught up to her pace and he slowed when he walked beside her.

"Leaving awful quick, aren't you?" he asked.

She glanced sideways at him briefly, before her eyes stared straight ahead again. "I'm not wanted. I thought it was rather obvious."

"That's one man's opinion," he retorted.

She stopped, causing him to halt his steps as well. As she turned to face him, she crossed her arms in front of her. It was evident her guard was up immediately.

"I'm sorry…I don't recall your name," she said bluntly.

"Farkas," he replied. "And you are…Mar—…Marina?"

"Marieka."

"Right. Sorry about that."

"Yes…well, Farkas, apparently I'm not wanted by the man whose opinion counts in your…group," she said.

"Now wait a moment," he said. "It isn't just one man who makes the decisions for us all. You ran too quickly."

"That was…incredibly embarrassing for me," she admitted, letting her arms fall to her sides. "I'm no warrior. When your friend Aela invited me to speak to your…to Kodlak, she knew that. Why would she have asked me to come if the first and only requirement is to fight with a sword or bow?"

"She saw something in you, Breton," he replied. "The potential to add something to our group. I admit, it took me some time, but I saw it too. You're a strong fighter…in your own way."

"Tell that to Vilkas," she said.

"Ah yes…let me apologize to you for my brother. He doesn't always get along well with everyone," he replied.

"Your brother?" she said, slightly shocked at the revelation. "Though, I suppose now that you mention it, there is some resemblance there. Other than the fact that he's an ass, and you don't seem to be."

Farkas smiled at her. "That wouldn't be the first time I've heard that."

"Be that as it may, I don't understand why you've followed me out here," she said. "I obviously am not cut out for your line of work."

"At first I might have agreed with you. But the way you jumped in to help back at the farm…" he reminded her. "Though, I do want to know why you came back to us in the first place."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I thought I could be useful. Perhaps earn a little extra gold on the side. Does it even really matter?"

"It matters," he replied. "I'd like to speak to Kodlak for you. He may still be interested in having you around for certain things. There are plenty of jobs that you could handle. Magic can be really intimidating. Especially to me."

"You're not afraid of magic," she scoffed.

"Well, I sure don't understand it," he replied. "Actually, there're a lot of things I don't understand."

She sighed. "Do you really think it would be worthwhile?"

"Of course!" he exclaimed. "I know Ria wouldn't turn you away. Not after you basically saved her leg."

She bit her lip tentatively. "I don't know. I may need to think about it."

"Yeah," he replied, "take your time. We won't be going anywhere. And there will always be plenty of people who need a shakedown."

She laughed at his enthusiasm. "All right then," she said. "I'll give it some consideration. But only because you make it sound like so much fun."

"Oh trust me," he replied, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "It's the most fun you can have in Whiterun. And after a successful day of intimidation and beatings, we tend to throw back a bottle or two of mead."

"You don't say," she said. "Never took your lot for drinkers."

"Really?" he asked incredulously. "Most people say it's the only thing we know how to do right."

"I was joking, Farkas."

"Oh. Right."

"I, uh…I appreciate that you followed me out here," she admitted.

"Let's just say that you're not the first person that Vilkas has embarrassed in front of everyone," he replied.

"It's tough being the thoughtful, friendly brother of an ass, isn't it?" she asked.

He nodded with a smile. "See? I knew there was a reason I thought you should join us. You understand me already." He looked over his shoulder back towards Jorrvaskr. "I should probably get back to…"

"Oh, yes," she said. "Please…don't let me keep you. I'll think on your offer over the next few days. And I'll return to you regardless of my decision."

"That is fair," he replied.

"Thank you Farkas," she began. "You didn't have to do this. But I appreciate it."

"Anytime," he said. "Listen, Marieka…a few of us were planning to head down to the Bannered Mare tonight. Aela will be there. And Ria. I think they would be happy to see you…especially Ria."

"Will your brother be there?" she asked.

"I don't know really," he said, "but don't you worry about him. I'll keep him in line."

"I'll think about it, Farkas. Thanks for the invitation."

* * *

Farkas and several of the Companions – including his brother – surrounded a large table covered with bottles of mead at the Bannered Mare. They had been celebrating nothing in particular for the better part of an hour, their level of rowdiness increasing so much so that Hulda had begun to shoot them disapproving looks.

They continued their merrymaking and revelry, drinking and cheering throughout a lively conversation. Stories were told and the mead flowed easily. Patrons in the tavern came and went without the group paying anyone any mind. At least that was the case until the one time the door opened wide, bringing with it a gust of wind, a chill to the bone…and a familiar face.

"Well, well," Vilkas said smugly. "If it isn't the whelp…"

Farkas turned to face the doorway, discovering that his brother spoke the truth. "Oi! Breton!" he called out to her with a wave.

Her face lit up with a smile and she began to walk towards them. She hesitated momentarily when she spotted Vilkas among them, but pushed aside her reluctance in favour of the camaraderie the group ahead of her seemed to be offering.

With the Companions, if you put in your fair share, you were accepted. It was all rather black and white. Sometimes all a person needed was a chance. Farkas wasn't always the best judge of a person's character, but with Marieka, he felt certain. She would make a good addition to their group. Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but in her own way.

He reached behind to the table nearby, pulling up another chair so she could join them. She slid easily into it, acknowledging the group.

"Aela…Ria…I'm afraid I don't know you two…Farkas…" she nodded to each of the group in turn until she came to Vilkas. "Ass…"

Shock claimed the man's face at the woman's affront. He made to open his mouth in retort, but no words came out.

Farkas laughed loudly at his brother. "What's the matter, Vilkas? Have you nothing to say to that?"

Vilkas growled low in his throat. "Shut up, Farkas."

"Perhaps you should head back to Jorrvaskr," Farkas chortled. "After all…aren't we looking for people who can hold their own?"

He looked at Marieka who smiled slyly at him. The others joined in welcoming her to their table, passing her a bottle of mead as Vilkas stormed out of the tavern.

"I don't mean to push for an answer – especially since you asked for a few days to think things over – but you wouldn't happen to have made a decision yet, would you?" Farkas asked her.

"In fact, I have made a decision, Farkas," she replied. "I would be happy to join…should you wish to take me on for a time."

He chuckled enthusiastically. "Good!" he exclaimed. "And if you promise to continue to put my brother in his place, we'll take you on until the end of your days."

She raised her bottle into the air. "To the future. May it always be full of surprises," she toasted.

The others joined her in the toast.

_To the future, indeed…_


	14. Karliah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got a call earlier. It was Brynjolf. He said "I heard you were talking to Anders from Dragon Age the other day. Get back over here. And don't do that again…lass."
> 
> Ah, these muses and their jealousy. Bryn is becoming quite the attention whore.
> 
> Sorry Bryn…I'll behave…I promise.

The trek to Winterhold from Snow Veil Sanctum was proving to be a long one – made longer by the seemingly endless awkward silences that continued to manifest between the two women. Karliah certainly couldn't fault her for being suspicious. She had, after all, shot her with what amounted to a toxin-coated arrow. It wasn't exactly the most ideal way to begin any sort of relationship with someone. Admittedly, her motives had switched in an instant the second the woman had come through the heavy doors ahead of Mercer Frey. She had fully intended to plant the arrow in the central portion of his chest; to watch him collapse to the ground and finally to interrogate him. Make him confess to his crimes against the Guild…to his crimes against her…and Gallus. Poor, sweet Gallus.

But she knew…soon after they had entered the catacombs, she knew Mercer had arrived to seek her death. He had planned to bury the past completely, bringing along the woman Marieka to act as a shield. Had she been killed in the process, Karliah knew Frey would not have shed a tear or given her a second thought. He destroyed all hope of doing this cleanly…she had worried the woman would have perished because of her. It would seem though, that the gods clearly had a sense of humour – and one that Karliah would never understand. And now, this woman who merely hours earlier was on death's doorstep, was striding silently beside the Dunmer, ultimately trying to get back to Riften in as close to one piece as possible. But first…they needed to reach Winterhold.

"I don't blame you, you know," Karliah said suddenly.

"Blame me? What could you possibly have me to blame for?" Marieka shot back.

"For being wary of me," she replied. "What you've heard…it's not easy to stomach."

"No," she began, "and neither is a poison arrow to the chest."

"That is a misnomer. It was actually a toxin."

"Bah! Semantics," the Breton muttered. "The fact remains that you shot me."

"Need I remind you that by shooting you, I also saved your life?" Karliah calmly explained. "Without that toxin slowing the blood in your veins, the exsanguination would have been…fatal."

Marieka went silent for several moments. The reality of her near death experience had hit her several times already, causing her to request some time to rest. Karliah recognized that the woman's injuries would have required her to need a moment of respite; but the look upon her face suggested that her reasons ran deeper than the physical.

The distance between the Sanctum and Winterhold was great, but no more than a half day's walk. Or it would have been, had the weather been more hospitable to the two women. As it was, the winds howled into their faces, making it exceedingly difficult to maintain a brisk forward motion. Coupled with the blinding snow, the walk was one of the most challenging Karliah had remembered having in a very long time. And she had been walking the miles across Skyrim for an even longer time than that…

They persisted on through the day, arriving at Winterhold many hours after nightfall.

As they ascended the steps to the Frozen Hearth, Marieka was the first to speak.

"Karliah?"

She stopped at the top of the steps and looked at the woman. "Hmm?"

"I'm…sorry."

The Dunmer looked at her, puzzled by her apology.

"It is absurd that I maintain this disdain for you over the incident with the toxin. You in fact _did_ save my life, and for that I am forever in your debt," Marieka explained.

"Your debt shall be cleared once we understand what Gallus' journal says and I can return to Riften to warn the Guild. Until then, I will still hold nothing over your head for what I did to save you," Karliah advised. "Now let us enter the inn quickly, lest we finally catch our death of cold so close to our destination."

Marieka smiled weakly as the Mer held the door open for her. They entered the inn quietly – the lateness of the hour meant most, if not all, of the occupants were sleeping. Luckily, the proprietor of the inn, Dagur, had not quite settled in for the night.

"Welcome to the Frozen Hearth," he said kindly as they approached. "I'm about to turn in for the night, but if you weary travelers seek hot food or cold mead, I'm sure I can accommodate either request."

"That is appreciated," Marieka replied. "We, however, come seeking contact with a particular individual – Enthir of the College. Is he here?"

"Afraid not," Dagur replied. "He's been gone for a few days now. Don't know where he travelled to, but he did say he'd be back by now. You're both welcome to stay the night to wait for him. We could use the business."

Karliah nodded, tossing a number of septims on the counter to cover their accommodations for the night.

"I'll show you to your room," he said, emerging from behind the counter.

The two followed him and he brought them to a small room with two beds in it.

"Thank you," Marieka said.

He nodded to her and began to walk away, muttering to himself. "Sure hope that Enthir gets back soon. He always manages to bring me interesting trades. It'd be a shame if…"

As his voice trailed off, Karliah closed the door behind him. "We shall wait here until the mage returns. It will do you good to rest with that wound."

"I'll survive," she replied, sitting on the bed furthest from the door. "After all, with a good night's rest, I will be able to heal myself in a more proper manner. That being said, it pains me terribly. The next time I see that treacherous bastard, I plan to gut him."

"I'm afraid there is a long line of individuals who are ahead of you in that regard," Karliah said, for the first time allowing her face to display somewhat of a smile. She lowered herself gracefully on the other bed and began to remove her boots.

"What are your plans?" Marieka asked. "Once we figure out what information the journal holds, that is."

"We'll need to return to Riften, to inform the Guild," the Dunmer replied.

"We?"

"I don't expect they will be very welcoming of me," she advised. "I suspect that Mercer would not have brought you with him had some of the more senior members of the Guild not trusted you by now. I believe their trust in you will give them the pause that I need to stay their hand long enough to present what we have found. Will that be a problem?"

"No," she replied. "I don't think so. Though I hope you are right. I worry this may not work out as you anticipate."

"Have faith, Breton," she counseled. "Once they hear of Mercer's deceit, they will understand. Particularly once they hear that he attempted to murder you. Perhaps one or two of them may already call you friend?"

"Perhaps…"

Karliah eyed Marieka closely as her eyes became unfocused when she stared at nothing in particular. She was biting her lip as if in careful contemplation. The wistful sound of the woman's voice as she said that single word told her that she was right. She had taken a liking to someone in the Guild – though who, or whether the affection was reciprocal, was unknown. It mattered not – she suspected that would become clear to her soon enough.

"Sleep well, Marieka," she said, causing the other woman to start.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "Yes…you as well, Karliah."

The women made themselves comfortable in the hard beds of the inn as Karliah extinguished the candlelight in the room. Sleep did not elude them for long and soon, the quiet in the room was replaced by soft measured breaths and dreamless slumber.

* * *

Nearly a full week had passed by the time Marieka and Karliah prepared themselves to enter the cistern beyond the Ragged Flagon. The meeting with Enthir proved somewhat fruitless. The mage was unable to translate the journal as they had hoped, but he provided them at least with someone who might be able to help. The journal had been written in the Falmer language, and he knew of an individual – a Court Wizard who fancied himself more of a scholar – who studied the language extensively.

The required trip to Markarth was trying for Marieka. She spoke little of it upon her return to Winterhold. Regardless, she was successful in obtaining information that Enthir used to translate the text of the journal. With the translation in hand, Karliah became excited at the prospect of returning to the Guild…to the family she was exiled from for so many years. They left immediately, deciding to hire a carriage for the long journey to Riften.

It had all led to this moment. They stood a distance to the Flagon itself, some of the Guild's members noticing their presence, but remaining unalarmed.

"Who will know of you here?" Marieka asked.

"The most senior members," she replied. "Delvin is still here I suspect? And Brynjolf, of course."

The woman nodded. "Yes, Delvin…he's still here. And…"

Karliah noticed the Breton's breathing became increased. The vein in her neck even visibly pulsed more quickly. Her skin flushed; a bead of sweat upon her brow dripped down her face.

"Are you nervous, Marieka?" she asked.

"I…yes," she replied.

"You should not be so worried," she advised. "We will tell them of Mercer, and—"

"It's not that," Marieka interrupted. "It's just…never mind. We should hurry before everyone becomes more suspicious of our presence than they already are."

The Dunmer instantly understood that she was nervous about who they were about to see. There was no sense in attempting to decide who the object of her concern – and perhaps her affection – was; she would likely know in moments.

The two hurried through the tavern, ignoring the looks from those patrons at the tables throughout. When they arrived at the door to the cistern, Marieka's hand paused when it rested upon the handle. Her hesitation was brief, but measurable. Finally, she breathed deeply and opened the door.

She walked ahead; Karliah remaining slightly obscured from view behind her. Several figures nearest the reservoir itself turned around at the sound of their footsteps echoing through the cavernous expanse.

"Marieka!" It was Brynjolf. Karliah would have known his voice anywhere. "What are you—"

His pause suggested that he had spotted the figure behind her. The way he attempted to peer around her confirmed it. His eyes had widened; shock overtaking him. He and those he stood with drew their weapons, ready for a fight.

"No…no, Marieka. Why did you bring her here? Why did you bring that _traitor_ back to us?" he seethed, venom injected into every word. "How _dare_ you bring her here…"

Karliah's eyes moved between Brynjolf's face and that of Marieka. The expressions of betrayal and heartbreak that fell upon them respectively informed on only one thing: it was Brynjolf who held Marieka's heart.

She could encourage their pain no further and immediately stepped in front of the woman.

"Brynjolf," she cautioned. "You know not the whole story. Lower your weapons and I will show you proof that I did not murder the man I…that I did not murder Gallus. I will show you proof that you have been betrayed. We have _all_ been betrayed."

* * *

Karliah sat at the edge of the cistern, reflecting upon how smoothly her plan had been carried out. Brynjolf, Delvin and the others quickly accepted her explanation - particularly with the evidence of Gallus' journal and the empty vault. The Guild was on edge. They would not settle until Mercer had been called to account for his actions.

And so she sat quietly watching the reunion between Brynjolf and Marieka from afar. It may not have been clear to some of the others, but she knew of hidden love in the Guild. She experienced it. She and Gallus had spent many nights exchanging stolen glances and tender kisses under cover of darkness. And her trained eyes saw the subtle nuances of their actions. He stood a little too close to her; his eyes and fingertips lingering a little too long where they fell. If the emotion displayed at the beginning of their near confrontation hadn't been a dead giveaway to what was between them, then these moments would have pushed aside any doubt Karliah had.

She didn't want to stare, though couldn't help but do so. What she saw reminded her of happier times…times from so many years before. The tender caress of a cheek made her ache for her lost love. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting back tears twenty five years in the making as she finally returned home. When she opened them, she glanced back once more to observe the stolen moments by the door. Brynjolf reached for Marieka's hand and squeezed it. She turned and began to walk away, but he refused to let go…not until she had turned back to him one final time. As the gap widened between their fingertips, she turned and headed through the door.

The Dunmer quickly turned her gaze away from his direction. In her periphery, she spied him approaching where she sat. They would finally have a few moments to themselves – after so many years. When he reached her, she stood to greet him. He immediately wrapped his arms around her petite frame, to which she returned the embrace. His head rested atop hers and he leaned towards her to speak.

"Karliah…I…words will not ever do justice to the amount of pain in my heart I have for what we've done to you," he murmured into her ear. "Sorry is far too weak of a word."

He loosened from the embrace and they pulled apart, yet he kept his hands upon her shoulders.

"Brynjolf, it wasn't what you did. How could you have ever known the betrayal that was carried out?" she asked rhetorically. "I will not hold you responsible for this."

"We should have investigated," he insisted, dropping his hands to his side. "There had to have been something we could have done to learn the truth."

"You had no reason to suspect Mercer," she said. "And it was a long time ago. I am working to put the past behind me. It has been the only thing that has allowed me to survive these long years alone. And I am almost there. I will soon make Mercer pay for his transgressions."

"I have every belief that you will," he advised. "I have sent Marieka to seek evidence of Mercer's whereabouts. With luck, we will know where he is headed by nightfall."

"You sent her off?" Karliah exclaimed. "The poor girl's been run ragged these past weeks! She should be resting."

"She insisted she be the one to go," he clarified. "I asked her if she was certain and she maintained that she was. I can only wonder what happened to steel her to do this."

"I'm sure she will tell you eventually," she replied, not wishing to overstep her bounds.

He nodded.

"Where _did_ you manage to find her, Brynjolf?" she wondered. "She is quite different from many of the others I recall being part of the Guild."

"That she is," he replied. "Would you believe I was about to attempt to rob her, and I caught her doing the same to the proprietors of the Bee and Barb?"

"Interesting," she said, an eyebrow raised. "Though she does give off the air of naïve wanderer, doesn't she? I'd have figured her for an easy target as well."

"Trust me, lass," he said. "She is _no_ easy target."

"Yes, but she is a terrible sneak. I'm quite confident she set off every trap in Snow Veil Sanctum. And does the woman own a dagger? For she seems to prefer blowing things up to silence. I am sure that not a Draugr remains there, for they have _all_ been awakened by her wanton destruction. I do not suggest sending her anywhere that requires any level of stealth."

Brynjolf chuckled.

Karliah smiled an easy smile at him. "You love her, don't you?"

"What?" He put on a good look of shock at least.

"Brynjolf, we've been apart for many years, but I'm not stupid. I saw you with her. You love her." She eyed him carefully, watching his face to search for betrayal of his emotions.

"No…we…sure, we have a… _thing_. But it's not love," he said flatly. "She doesn't want to bring feelings into it. I don't either. Besides…she is married to another. It's…complicated."

"It's _always_ complicated, Brynjolf. Look…you might be able to deny it to yourself, but I know what I saw," she persisted. "And you and I _both_ know that marriage doesn't mean a thing when it comes to love."

"That was a long time ago, Karliah," he replied. "I've put it behind me and would prefer not to be reminded of it."

"Of course," she said. "It doesn't change the fact that you need to admit to yourself what your true feelings are for the woman. Be fair to her. Be fair to _yourself_."

"I—," he began, but did not finish.

"Brynjolf, what Gallus and I had…it was life-changing. It was beautiful and pure. We fought for it. And still…so long after his death, I'll never love another," she said, her eyes glassy. "Do not pass on what you know is in your heart simply because you believe she does not wish it so."

"Are you saying I should ask her if she has changed her mind?" he questioned.

"I'm saying you should search your heart. And if you find what I am sure you will find, you should ask if she feels the same," she advised. "Though, asking her is a waste of time if you value my opinion. What I saw tells me she more than feels the same way you do."

"Just how long were you watching us?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Long enough."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," he said.

"Brynjolf, you daft Nord! What would it do to you to lose her?" she demanded, clearly frustrated by his stubbornness on the subject.

"To lose her? What are you talking about, Karliah?"

She could no longer hold back the truth of what had happened at Snow Veil Sanctum. "Mercer tried to kill her. He stabbed her and left her to die. If it weren't for…" She cut herself off and sighed.

His entire demeanor changed in an instant. His eyes squeezed to thin slits and his hands balled into fists.

"What did you just say?" he growled. "That bastard…that fucking rat! When we find him, I'll cut his fucking heart out."

"Ah," she said. "That's the fire I expected to find within you, Brynjolf. _Now_ tell me that you don't love her."

"Why didn't she tell me?" he asked aloud, despite not truly requesting an answer.

"Perhaps she was afraid of your reaction," Karliah replied. "You need to keep a level head during this. You know how dangerous Mercer Frey can be. He's proven yet again that he has no regard for _any_ of us. Keep your temper in check, lest you end up like Gallus with poor, dear Marieka living with the regret of not telling you how she truly feels."

"I appreciate you telling me," he said coolly. "Mercer Frey has made his choice. And I intend to make him regret every bit of it until the moment I force the last breath from his body."

Karliah smiled. Mercer _would_ pay. She – among a growing list of others – would see to it.


	15. Onmund III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was painful.
> 
> I guess I'll let it speak for itself…

"Love is like a sin, my love…for the one that feels it the most  
Look at her with her eyes like a flame  
She will love you like a fly will never love you again"

~ "Paradise Circus", Massive Attack (Del Naja, Sandoval) 

* * *

_Onmund…we need to talk…_

Those words…those were the words that must have started every cataclysmic conversation that ever occurred in Skyrim. And being honest with himself, he had expected to have heard them much earlier.

But those words never came. Not at all. At least if they had, he wouldn't have been blindsided. He could have been led gently to where he was at that moment – uprooting his life once more. Mercifully he suspected this would be the last time. It was enough.

As he made preparations for his departure from Whiterun, he recalled the day those words should have been said to change his life. Marieka had finally come home from wherever she was. She said she had been on her way from Winterhold to Markarth, on some errand for one of the mages…Enthir, he thought. At the time, he hadn't known whether or not to believe her, but couldn't decide if she had a reason to lie.

When she arrived home, she was dirty and frail. She walked with a slight limp and when he confronted her about what could have happened, she snapped at him and immediately headed upstairs to their bedroom. To _his_ bedroom, for all the time _she_ had slept there.

Normally, he'd have let it go. He'd have ignored the outburst – pinning it down to the stress of travelling. But he'd had enough time alone to be driven insane by the 'what ifs' and the 'maybes'…he needed answers. He _deserved_ answers.

He followed her upstairs. Each step felt like eternity, his body heavy with the uncertainty of the confrontation to come. The creak of each stair ringing in his head like so many warning bells of impending trouble. The steps finally gave way to the landing and he passed Lydia's room, her door open. Thankfully, she had not been at home when Marieka had arrived. He turned towards the bedroom and through the partially opened door, he could see she had begun to change out of her heavily soiled clothes. The light armour she wore had been tossed on to the bed and she removed the leggings she wore under her dark trousers.

He pushed open the door wide with an anger she had never seen from him before. She was startled by the interruption and her eyes were wide.

"By the nine, Marieka! Where have you been? What have you been doing?" he demanded. "And for the love of all that is sacred, why do you _continue_ to travel alone?"

She looked at him through peculiar eyes. "I told you what I've been doing. I'm travelling to Markarth—"

"For Enthir…yes, yes," he replied snidely. "I heard you the first time. Now tell me what you're really doing."

She pulled a fresh pair of leggings from the dresser behind her and pulled them on quickly. "The mage needs the assistance of the Court Wizard. He's attempting to translate a document and I am going to help obtain what he needs to do so."

"So you're the errand girl of every mage you come across? Or Jarl? Or random person you cross paths with? You don't have to be everything to everyone. You don't have to do it all." His own words stung him, knowing that she was everything to everyone; except for the one person she had pledged her life to in order to do just that… _him_.

"You don't hear the stories, Onmund," she said, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "You don't see their _faces_. These people have no hope. The war is tearing this land apart and I'm trying to do what I can."

"You do too much for everyone but who you _should_ do for," he snapped.

She shook her head sadly and pulled her soiled undershirt up and over her head.

Onmund gasped loudly. "Marieka! What have you gotten yourself involved in now?" He ran over to her to examine the large fresh scar that ran roughly from her navel to her waistline. She cringed; as if she hadn't wanted him to see it at all. And she likely hadn't.

"It's…nothing, Onmund," she said, brushing him off.

"This is _not_ nothing! You can't keep doing this! You can't go off and risk your life for… _strangers_! This looks like it could have killed you," he said, collapsing on to the bed. He was defeated by her lack of self-concern.

"It nearly did," she replied quietly. "But…it didn't."

"So when will it? What will the injury be that finally sends you to your grave? An arrow to the back of the head? A knife to the throat? Perhaps a bolt of lightning will be your doom."

"Onmund! Stop it!" she cried out.

He was shaking. He'd never fought with her like this before. He'd barely fought with his family like this and they'd had more than their share of troubles. Why was he so angry?

He felt the bed lower next to him as she sat down slowly. She pulled a clean undershirt back over her head, hiding the scar once more. He looked over at her, reaching out to pull her chin towards him in order to look her in the eye.

"What's happening to us?" he asked. "What's going on?"

She turned away quickly. "Onmund, I…" She leaned forward, letting her forehead fall into her hands. "I know about you and Lydia."

His throat caught the breath that tried to escape. "I…had wondered…"

"I know you did," she replied.

He didn't know what to say. He had played this moment out in his head a thousand times before. He imagined that she'd have screamed at him. She probably would have slapped him across the face. Threatened to throw him out. He would have groveled and begged for her forgiveness. Pleaded with her. Told her how much he still loved her.

But it was never like this.

She was calm. She had accepted what she knew long ago. She lived with the secret for almost as long as he had.

"Marieka…I…I'm—"

"Stop," she said, shaking her head. "I…have not been true to you either."

He closed his eyes.

"You suspected…" she began.

He nodded.

"Please don't ask why," she begged.

"Don't you owe me that much?" he asked.

"Don't you?"

_Sigh._

"Do you love him?"

"I didn't," she said. The implications in those two words weighed heavily on him. Were they still involved? Did she love him now?

He looked at her, trying to see the honesty in her eyes. She was tired. Too tired to hide behind anything any longer.

"When I suspected…this…I told myself it wouldn't matter. As long as you loved me," he said, his voice wavering.

"Oh, Onmund," she said, biting her lip. "I do love you. But this…it isn't what it should be. I don't deserve what you're offering me. I've been taking advantage of you."

"No," he said. "You haven't. And that's the problem. You haven't _been_ here. Why did you stop bringing me with you?"

"I'm scared for you," she admitted weakly. "I injured you so severely the last time we travelled together. I'd not forgive myself for doing that again…or doing worse. It was too dangerous to bring you."

"Do you think I sit at home happy that you're off putting yourself into danger then?" he asked, a hint of sarcasm tingeing his words.

"Of course not," she said.

"Then why did you stop bringing Lydia? She's a warrior. Her life is to serve you…even to her death," he said.

"I…I thought that perhaps you'd be happier if she were home. That she would make you happier than I could."

"How dare you!" he growled. "How dare you not allow me to make my own decisions! I wanted you, _not_ her, Marieka. And you wouldn't even give me that opportunity."

She squeezed her eyes shut to fight back the tears that were finally threatening to spill.

"Tell me what to do," she cried out. "Tell me what you want!"

"I want you to tell me if you love him!"

"I don't know," she replied quietly. Her voice faltered.

"Tell me, Marieka! Do you fucking love him now?" he raged.

"Yes!" she finally exclaimed. "Yes…I love him…"

Silence.

"Fuck…" He stood up and walked out of the room…leaving her to her tears.

* * *

In the hours that followed, Onmund paced the floor of the living area. He shook with anger and fought back tears of his own. He never wanted it to come to this. He never wanted this to end badly. It wasn't supposed to have ended in tears.

But really, what other way was there for it to end? _Perhaps,_ he once hoped, _not at all…_

There was no thought of that now though. There would be no coming back from this ledge. They would both be forced to leap, for they'd passed any point of return.

_Who is it?_ He racked his brain trying desperately to think of who she had fallen in love with. He wanted to kill the man. As ridiculous as it sounded, he wanted the man to hurt as badly as he was now hurt. He also realized how futile it was to try to come up with a name. It was hopeless – she'd been off travelling so often that he'd likely never even met the man. Might _never_ meet him.

At one point, Lydia had returned home. She immediately knew something was wrong.

"Onmund," she whispered. "What's going on?"

"You'd best leave for the night, Lydia," he advised. "Stay at the inn. I shall send for you when you can return."

He handed her coin for the room and sent her off. Her face displayed obvious concern…worry. She feared it had everything to do with the nights the two had spent in each other's arms, and nothing to do with what it was actually about. She left silently, cursing herself for her part in this.

When he could no longer stand the silence that deafened his ears, he gathered his courage and returned to her.

She was sprawled across the bed on her stomach; passed out from exhaustion, he assumed. Her face was tear stained; her eyes puffy and red-rimmed. And for all that he wanted to hate her for what she had done, he could do nothing but think back to the day she broke in front of him.

_I don't_ _**want** _ _this, Onmund! I can't…I can't do this!_

She was vulnerable and begging for his help and he loved every part of her for that. But she was no longer the same person she was that day. She changed. She _had_ to. She'd been tasked with something that overwhelmed her, and her primary reaction was to push away those who were closest. To _protect_ them.

Perhaps it was the only way she could get through the day. _Every_ day.

He sat down on the bed next to where she lay. He brushed her hair back off of her face and behind her ear. The simple action reminded him of happier times, when they lounged together exchanging tales from their youth…when the sparkle was still in her eyes. Yet, he felt cold as he stroked her hair gently…perfunctory. He wanted to feel something so badly.

But that feeling never came.

He leaned back against the head of the bed, pulling his hand back away from her hair. As he stretched his legs out in front of him, she stirred, looking around and finding him in front of her.

"Onmund…you're here."

If she was never going to use those words, he would. "Marieka…we need to talk. We need to resolve this."

She pushed herself up and wiped her face blindly. "I know. Did I hear Lydia earlier?"

He nodded. "I asked her to…not be here for the night. I thought it best."

"You're probably right," she said. She looked down at her hands, picking at her fingernails nervously. "I never meant for it to happen, Onmund. I wasn't supposed to love him."

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry for forcing you to decide."

"I didn't want to admit it to myself. It's my final betrayal. My final act of deception…and…I'm sorry for that. Because, for what it's worth, I still love you," she admitted.

"Your love has changed," he replied. "It's not the same as it was. _You're_ not the same. Neither of us is. We should never have rushed into this the way we did."

As they sat there, closer than they had been for months, they watched each other quietly as their relationship unraveled before them. It was akin to watching a star blink out of the sky. Or a fish flopping out of the water. It was painful and awkward…this death they were bearing witness to. Yet, oddly freeing.

He looked away from her for a moment, focusing for a moment on his fingertips. When his eyes returned to her, the pain of this loss had become apparent across her face. She furiously wiped away at her eyes, trying to hide that she had started to cry again.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I haven't had time to come to grips with this. I'm a bit more emotional than I expected."

"Don't be sorry," he replied. "It drives me to believe that you actually do still care."

"Of course I still care," she said, trying desperately not to betray the fact that his words continued to destroy her.

He ran a hand through his hair, summoning the courage to bring more pain to the surface. Nothing would be resolved for him without gathering an…understanding.

"So who is he?"

"Why do you want to know who he is? Will that change anything?" she asked, praying for him to change his mind.

"I need to understand why, Marieka."

"Please don't do this to yourself," she begged. She knew it would mean more harm than good.

"You know of my indiscretion. And you have the benefit of knowing who. I want that benefit. I want to understand," he said, a chill passing from his lips to her spine.

"Onmund, I…" She looked at him and sighed; resignation upon her face. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Where? Where is this man?" he asked.

"Riften."

At the name of the city, his eyes narrowed. "Does that mean this has been going on since…the incident at the College?"

She stared straight ahead, looking past him. "Yes."

He heaved a sigh. "What does he do?"

"What does that matter, Onmund?"

"You are still my wife, Marieka," he said. "I wish to know that he will take care of you."

"I don't need taking care of," she hissed.

"Humour me."

Her breath expelled sharply. "He is…an entrepreneur of sorts."

"Don't bullshit me, Marieka."

"He is a thief."

"Brilliant." Onmund was not impressed with this turn of events, though it was not as though he did not expect something similar. "And when you stay in Riften, I suppose you stay with him?"

She shook her head slowly. "I…own a house there."

"You own _another_ house?" he exclaimed. "Were you ever planning on telling me this?"

"No. I was never going to tell you."

"Shit, Marieka. Why not?" He wondered if continuing down this road was the wisest choice. The more she answered honestly, the less he knew her. The less he _liked_ her.

She gritted her teeth, steeling herself to prepare her words. This – above all – needed to be told to him. This was the most important thing.

"Everything about Riften was going to be for me. For me alone. When I first arrived, no one knew who I was. No one knew _what_ I was. You can't imagine how that feels, Onmund. To know that no one will look at me expecting something more than I can give them." She shifted uncomfortably under his cold gaze.

"You're right," he replied. "I don't understand. I don't understand why you couldn't tell your husband that you needed to have a place where you could go to escape things when you felt it necessary."

"I didn't go there expecting to find anything," she said. "I first travelled there with Lydia. I'd never have returned had I not been offered a job. It was one that didn't require me to slay dragons. And it was one that I was good at."

"You were 'good at' the College. You are 'good at' being the Thane. Why did you need something else? You're trying to fill a void that's not even there." He stared at her, yet she would not meet his eye.

"You really have no idea," she said, shaking her head – in the disbelief that he would profess to know what she needed; not that he wouldn't understand. "You can never understand what it will be like for me for the rest of my days. You will never witness like I have the way a person literally transforms before my eyes when they find out what I am. Even you, Onmund. It has even happened to you."

"What are you talking about?" he scoffed. "That's nonsense."

"It was in your eyes the moment we left High Hrothgar. When you discovered what I could do," she replied. "And every day since. I see it. I can't face you because of it. I can't look you in the eye for I am reminded of it every moment that I do."

"And this city…this… _thief_ …they do not know what you are?"

Her lip quivered. "I was attacked by a dragon when I returned to the city one morning. It was too close to where the guards patrolled. They saw the skirmish. They saw what I did."

"Then what good is it for escape any longer?" he pointed out. "Does the thief not yet know?"

"He knows. But by the gods, Onmund…nothing has changed," she said, a wistful look upon her face. "The shock of what I am came and went without incident. He simply does not care." She contemplated her memories of that day…of what he had said to her. "It was then I knew I loved him. That is where the seeds were sown."

He put his head in his hand. "Does he know of your feelings? Does he reciprocate?"

"I…do not know," she replied. "But I know that I cannot continue to live the way I have been living. Not if I know I love him."

He looked up at the ceiling, pulling down at his jaw with his fingers. His mouth stayed open as he forced himself to think…to try to find a solution to this disaster.

"What are we to do, Marieka?" he asked. He looked back down to her. She finally met his gaze. "Where do we go from this point?"

"I would stay with you if you wished it, Onmund," she whispered, barely convincing the words to leave her mouth.

He immediately shook his head. "No. That is a ridiculous thought," he said, almost angrily. "You would be no happier than a child placed in the corner for punishment. For that is what it would amount to."

Her face was transformed by sadness. "Do not say that," she pleaded. "You were never punishment, Onmund."

"Regardless," he continued. "I'll not do that to either of us. If you have no suggestions on the matter, then let me be so bold as to explain one of my own. Before all of this, I made a decision that I would return to the College to continue my studies. To perhaps become a scholar. I had intended to carry on as your husband, but I no longer feel that is sensible. I will simply move back to the College. Permanently."

"I do not intend to kick you out of this home, Onmund," she replied. "This is more your home than it is mine."

"No. The memories are…fresh. Besides, I still have much to learn. Our travels together proved that." He looked at her, offering the tiniest of smiles.

"When will you leave?"

"Originally I considered within the month," he advised. "But now, I will not dally. I will leave by week's end."

"I see. Where would you wish me to be during that time?" she asked.

"Do not stay here," he said. "It will only complicate matters."

She cringed at his words, but knew he was right. The longer they were together during this volatile time, the worse it would be. Time apart would heal the wounds that were fresh.

"I suspect that we will see each other there at times…considering your station, Arch-Mage," he said. She thought his statement laced with sarcasm, but it was free and clear of all connotations.

"I have advised Tolfdir that I will only accept the title on an interim basis. He is set to seek out a permanent replacement for me within a few months. I'm beginning to tire of these titles," she said quietly.

"Then stop seeking them out. You need to slow down and take care of yourself, Marieka," he warned. "Your thief may provide you comfort now, but what happens when the next woman comes across his path? What then?"

"I will cross that bridge – _if_ and when I come to it," she replied.

"Confident in him then," he mused. "That's something, I suppose."

She had left not long after. He saw her off with a lingering embrace. When he attempted to give her the band of matrimony he wore on his finger, she advised him to keep it – purely for practical reasons, for it was enchanted with a spirit of life. He removed it from his finger and placed it on a chain to wear around his neck. He would never forget the love he once cherished with her. It was not his way to regret.

And days later, as he packed the last of his belongings up, his hand found its way to his chest where the ring lay. For some reason, it always remained warm to the touch. He assumed it was due to the enchantment – though, perhaps it was something else. After all, she said she would always love him…and he her. Problem was, it just wasn't the right kind of love to make them both stay.

Lydia assisted him with his belongings – helping him bring them to the stables. They loaded up the cart of the transport he had hired and he wished the housecarl good luck.

"I shall cherish those small moments we shared for all the days of my life," she whispered into his ear as he gave her a farewell embrace. She kissed him softly on the cheek and he stepped back from her.

"Farewell Lydia," he said. "Perhaps one day we will meet again."

She nodded and turned to leave before he ascended to the carriage.

As the cart began the long journey towards Winterhold, his eyes fell upon the city. Through the open gates he could see Breezehome. As the house passed from his view, so too did the bad memories from it. For when he packed his belongings, he had only made room for the good ones.


	16. Brynjolf VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't often chunk the lyrics of a full song at the beginning of a story, but this song feels like the soundtrack of what's to come. Like if I was one to write outlines for my stories, this would be it! If you have the opportunity to find this song, I recommend doing so. For those of us who aren't getting any younger, the wordplay of the lyrics suggest such beauty of the more mature relationship and the crescendo of the music itself is just spine tingling.
> 
> Hope this makes everyone feel better after the last installment.
> 
> Update: This was one just as hard to write as the previous chapter! Sheesh!

_How dare the premier ignore my invitations…he'll have to go  
So, to the bunch he luncheons with, it's second on my list of things to do_

_At the top I'm stopping by your place of work and acting like  
I haven't dreamed of you and I and marriage in an orange grove_

_You are the only thing in any room you're ever in  
I'm stubborn, selfish and too old_

_I sat you down and told you how the truest love that's ever found…is for oneself  
You pulled apart my theory with a weary and disinterested sigh_

_So yes, I guess I'm asking you to back a horse that's good for glue…and nothing else  
But find a man that's truer than…find a man that needs you more than I_

_Sit with me awhile and let me listen to you talk about  
Your dreams and your obsessions, I'll be quiet and confessional_

_The violets explode inside me when I meet your eyes  
Then I'm spinning and I'm diving like a cloud of starlings_

_Darling, is this love?_

_~ "Starlings", Elbow (Garvey, Potter, Potter, Turner, Jupp)_

* * *

The dampness of the cistern was getting to Brynjolf. He had spent the hours since Marieka left for Riftweald Manor hunched over Mercer's desk, sifting through hundreds of old Guild documents looking for something… _any_ kind of indictor that the Guildmaster had deceived them for so many years. When he finally gave up on the search, the stiffness in his back ached immediately as he stood up straight. So too did his knees; they betrayed his age as he walked towards where Delvin Mallory stood upon the bridge over the reservoir.

The Breton greeted him with a nod, folding his arms in front of him and tipping his head.

"I'm still having a hard time with this, Bryn," he said. "We're thieves. I understand I shouldn't be surprised to find that someone's conniving, but this…" He shook his head in disdain.

"I used to think there was honour among thieves," he replied. "It's difficult to hold on to that notion now."

"Ah, don't let one bad egg sully the rest of us, old man."

Brynjolf pointed his finger at the man's chest sharply. "Watch it, Mallory! Another comment about my age and I'll toss you in the drink."

Delvin chuckled. "I saw you hobbling over here. Face it, Bryn…you're not as young as you used to be."

"Stating the obvious has always been a strong point of yours, Del."

"So where's the wee spitfire gotten off to?" Delvin asked casually.

"I presume you refer to Marieka," he replied. "She volunteered to seek out information that might help us sort out where Mercer's planning to head next."

"She's gone to Riftweald then? I can't imagine that oaf Vald will just let her waltz in there," the Breton said. "Can you picture the two of them? Big hulking chunk of Nord facing down that tiny thing? Sure you should have sent her on her own?"

Brynjolf pursed his lips together. "You're starting to make me regret that decision now."

"Wouldn't worry 'bout it much, Bryn," Delvin advised. "You've told me enough times that she can handle herself. Managed to pull off that Goldenglow job, that one…don't forget it. She'll be back before you know it."

"Hope you're right, Del," he said solemnly. "I've sent her into harm's way enough as it is. If something happened to her…"

"Relax, mate," he said, placing a hand on the Nord's arm. "Don't get so worked up."

"Maybe I should go after her. Make sure that nothing's happened."

"Brynjolf. Settle down." Delvin eyed him suspiciously. "Somethin' goin' on between you and that one?"

He hesitated for a moment. "We…spent a couple of nights together. Nothing more than that."

"You sure?" he asked. "You're spending an awful lot of time down here pining away over her. And no one girl is _that_ good in bed."

Brynjolf put on an annoyed look and glared at the man. Delvin let a sly smile spread across his face.

"That look is all I needed to see, Bryn. You can't fool ol' Delvin," he chuckled. He looked beyond Brynjolf and nodded towards the door. "Don't look now, but your girl just showed up."

He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the gods. Now we can find out what that bastard Frey has been up to."

"Yes," Delvin replied under his breath as Brynjolf turned away from him and headed towards Marieka. "I'm sure that's exactly why you're relieved."

Brynjolf walked at an easy pace towards her, never wanting to appear too eager at her return. If Delvin had suspected something, then he wouldn't be the only one of the Guild's members to have done so. No need to put anything else suspicious out there for them all to grasp at.

"You, lass, are a sight for sore eyes," he said.

She smiled widely back at him, looking rather proud at her return. "Did you doubt for a second that I'd return successfully?"

"Hmm…cocky," he replied. "Might be an interesting quality to add to your arsenal."

He smiled at her until he noticed the large mark that showed up as the dim light in the cistern hit the side of her face. It was part scrape, part bruise.

"Marieka, what happened here?" he asked, obvious concern in his voice. He carefully turned her face so he could examine the injury closer.

Delvin appeared beside the two and eyed the mark on her face. "Ouch. Kissed by a giant, by the looks of it."

"Nothing so exotic, I fear. Frey hired mercenaries to guard the levels inside. One of them caught me with the broad side of his blade," she explained. "Better than the sharp side, I say."

"Much better," Brynjolf replied. "Although it looks like the sharp side did do some damage." He lightly patted the scrape that had quickly covered over with the initial stages of scabbing.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "More good news! I discovered that the poison resistance draughts I brewed the other day work like a charm. Managed to trip a trap that I completely missed and was hit by several poison darts. Good times, that Riftweald Manor. I'd go back there again in a heartbeat." She rolled her eyes excessively.

"You happen to take some other magical potion there girl?" Delvin asked. "You're in too good of a mood."

She pulled her pack from her shoulder and dug into it. From it, she pulled a large map. When she unrolled it, she pointed her finger at it.

" _This_ is where we'll find Mercer Frey!" she exclaimed triumphantly.

The two men leaned in towards the map.

"Irkngthand?" Delvin said. "Why do I know that name?"

"I know the place," Brynjolf said dismally. "It's a dwemer ruin…said to hold the Eyes of the Falmer."

"What are they?" she asked.

"Not sure exactly, but they'd be worth a lot to someone. And if Mercer finds them, he'll make enough coin to disappear forever. That son of a bitch. We can't let him get them."

"If it makes you feel any better, we need not hurry," Marieka pointed out. "There are notes…names of settlements and…well, I'm not sure…a list of ingredients for _some_ thing. But it would appear that Mercer is not heading directly to Irkngthand. We have time. We'll rest until tomorrow. And that reminds me. I ran into Karliah. She wishes to meet us tomorrow at dusk, Brynjolf. She's given me directions for where we'll be headed."

"Right, well you two enjoy _that_ journey. I'll just be right here keeping my usual seat in the Flagon warm for when you return," Delvin said. "Speaking of which, I'm off for a drink. Evenin'."

He left them standing together as he headed off to the tavern.

"You did well, lass," Brynjolf said with a smile. "You had my nerves up when you started to make us wait longer than we suspected though."

She sighed. "Maven. That woman…she had me…you know what? It doesn't matter. I'm just happy that the task is complete and we have something to go on."

"As am I," he replied.

He took the map from her and brought it to the large desk that once belonged to Mercer. He supposed it was time to start thinking of the man in the past. After all, he vowed to destroy him. For what he did to the Guild. For Karliah and Gallus. For Marieka.

When he turned around to head back to where she was standing, he nearly jumped when he realized she had followed him and was standing right there. There was something different about her. She seemed lighter and unburdened. The smile on her face spoke of peace.

She looked around quickly, checking over her shoulder before stepping towards him and grabbing one of his hands.

"We have much to talk about," she said excitedly.

"Oh, we do? Just what did you have in mind, lass?" _Because I have so much to tell you…_

"Not here," she replied. "Come by Honeyside…but no sooner than an hour from now."

She let go of his hand and readjusted the pack on her shoulder.

"I'll see you then, Brynjolf," she said, turning to leave. A few steps later she spun around quickly and called out to him. "And bring some mead! Otherwise, I can't promise you there will be any."

As she disappeared around the corner, he took a deep breath. Tonight could very well provide him the opportunity for a moment of truth. He would have to decide once and for all what his feelings for her meant. The strange tingle in his stomach startled him. Were these nerves? He didn't want to risk changing things if it meant ruin for their…well…this thing of theirs. He was venturing into unknown territory. It was a place that he'd not been for decades. Gods, he hoped that whatever came of that night, she would understand.

* * *

The anticipation of the night was all but killing him. The seconds ticked by as an eternity, but it still was not enough time to reconcile his thoughts. If the other members of the Guild noticed Brynjolf was on edge, they never let on. Or passed it off as the stress of the circumstances they were involved in.

Karliah returned to the cistern that evening, shortly after Marieka headed back home. She smiled at Brynjolf from the distance – a smile that was too knowing. He wanted to talk to someone…she would have been perfect had it not been for the fact that Delvin continued to harass her to join him for drinks. She eventually obliged, heading off with him to the Flagon. Yet before she left, she caught Brynjolf's attention and give him a look of confidence, faith and compassion all at once. Her words from earlier that day would have to suffice for what he needed.

He had significantly allowed his anger over Mercer's treason dissipate in the hours since he spoke to the Dunmer woman. But her words haunted him. He couldn't help but think about the way she looked when she admitted Frey had attempted to kill Marieka. Her face…it was almost as though she thought herself the responsible party.

_What would it do to you to lose her?_

The more he thought of those words, the greater the feeling of hollow emptiness grew within his stomach. He found his thoughts turning towards the Breton more often than he wanted to admit to himself. The days when she was in Riften, he wanted to be by her side. And when she was not around, he _missed_ her. It was slowly becoming harder for him to deny that anything was happening between them – especially to himself.

Before he even realized it was happening, his feet set him on the path towards her home. He was thankful for it, for he wasn't certain it would have happened otherwise. And it confirmed one thing – he knew at least that his feet were in love with the girl.

A strange inner monologue played out as he walked. Random thoughts were discussed within him, as he practiced various things he could say to her. _She's the best thing that has happened to me in too long. But I'm too old to be pining over the young lass. What could she possibly see in me anyway? I'm just an old washed up thief. She was just looking for something physical. It's probably best that we just have a quick discussion about what she wants to tell me, and then…I'll just go. I'll tell her that we should probably put an end to what's happened between us. Although, if you're still interested, lass…I'd be happy to take part in your sexual misadventures. Of course, I'll leave that up to you. Don't give me that look Marieka. If you want to end it, just tell me. I know you still love Onmund. And by now, you're probably feeling guilty about what we've done without his knowledge. Yes, that's fine. I'll just head back to the Flagon for a few drinks. No need to worry about me._

It was settled then. He had gone insane.

He stopped in the street to settle his rambling thoughts. Leaning on the rail, he looked down towards the canal. The water was calm…like glass. The reflection in it drew his attention up to the skies above, where the auroras danced. They stretched across the expanse of the sky, streaking the quickly darkening canvas with a brilliant red fire. The shock of so much sudden beauty caused him to inhale sharply and hold his breath. When he released the breath, his eyes returned earthward and he forced himself to continue on.

He arrived at Honeyside…ready to once again debate about knocking. Though his chance passed quickly, as the door opened to reveal a very unassuming – and excited – Marieka.

"I'm so glad you're here, Brynjolf!" she exclaimed. "I had started to worry that perhaps you might have changed your mind about coming."

"Sorry lass," he said. "Got caught up looking at the skies."

She peeked her head out of the door and looked up. Her eyes widened and she threw open the door wide, quickly stepping through it. She stared up at the sky in wonder.

"They really are beautiful tonight, aren't they?"

He nodded in agreement, but hadn't taken his eyes off of her since she opened the door. Her face had transformed into a façade of childlike innocence as she marveled at the sight. He noticed that she had never painted her face up like some of the whores that he had encountered over the span of his life as a career criminal. She was pretty enough that most men would at least give her a second glance. But her beauty was quiet and reserved. It did not overwhelm him – thankfully, lest he be driven to his knees in a pile of messy words and attempts to impress. The strange markings she carried on her face had always intrigued him as well, though he had not yet had the courage to confront her about them.

"Brynjolf, you're not even looking at them," she said.

"They aren't the only lovely thing that has my attention this night," he replied.

She looked every bit the part of Thane that night. Instead of her usual armour or mages' robes, she had opted for soft dark trousers and a belted tunic. No hood covered her head for once, and her often tangled hair had been combed through, looking soft to the touch.

She looked at him, flush creeping up her neck and on to her face quickly. "Well…I…come in, at least," she stuttered.

He smiled at her as he walked by into her home. It was warm and inviting, candlelight punctuating the room with a large fire in the hearth.

"Where's your housecarl?" he asked, attempting to be nonchalant. He ran his fingertips along the back of a chair as he passed it, turning to face her slowly as she closed the door behind her.

"I've given her some time off. Did I tell you she is betrothed? Her husband to be owns a farm just outside of Shor's Stone. I plan to do something about her schedule. After all, I'm not exactly someone who needs a housecarl. Being a part of the Guild makes me less nervous that someone will try to steal from my home. I often think she sits around here quite _bored_ most of the time," she admitted.

"It's useful for her to be here when you're away though, is it not?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes…when I'm away," she replied. "But…I plan on spending a bit more time here." His heart sped up momentarily. "You know, to ensure that the Guild is stronger," she added quickly.

"That is appreciated," he said. "As is good cold mead." He reached into the pack he carried, pulling out several bottles as she had requested earlier.

"Oh, perfect!" she said. "I had almost forgotten that I'd asked you to bring them. I also had Iona pick up a selection of cheeses and smoked meats from the market. I think it's a rather respectable offering, don't you?"

"More than respectable," he replied. "But then, I'm not here for the food."

"Oh goodness, you cut right to the chase, don't you?" she laughed.

"We're not going to live forever, lass," he replied, cursing himself for putting forth yet another reminder of just how much older he was.

"Ah, and who wants to?" she quipped, apparently not quite as worried about age and death as he was.

He approached her, bringing his hand up to the side of her face. "How is that bruise?" he asked, having a good look at it.

"It doesn't hurt so much," she replied. "I haven't bothered to heal it. It adds character."

He chuckled. "Then I must be full of character, for all the scars and bruises I've attained over the years."

She moved dangerously close to him and looked into his eyes. "You are full of character, Brynjolf," she murmured. "It's why I like you."

He didn't move – barely breathing until she stepped back again. She motioned for him to follow her towards the hearth. She had spread out a blanket and several furs on the floor. Picking up the platter of food Iona had prepared, she kneeled on the ground and placed the food in front of them. He lowered himself to the ground as she made herself comfortable.

"I should really invest in some more comfortable seating options," she said, flashing a smile. "Hope you don't mind the floor, but I'm liable to pass right out if I sit on the bed."

_Or be ravaged. Among other things…_

He shook his head. "This is fine. Reminds me of when I was a young lad…back when my mother was still alive. She used to…we sometimes had lunches like this. I never did figure out why she enjoyed it so much."

"There's something slightly romantic about curling up on the ground in front of a roaring fire with a packed lunch," she said. "The air of being on the road without the danger."

"That could be it right there," he agreed. "So lass…I can see it in your eyes. You are _dying_ to tell me about something."

She smiled widely at him. Every time he saw that smile, a warmth spread throughout him. Her happiness – though it came in spurts – was infectious.

"I did it, Bryn," she said. "I confronted him. I confronted Onmund."

"Wait…when?" he asked. "When did you even see him?"

"On the way to Markarth. I needed to stop to rest for the night anyhow. So I detoured through Whiterun," she explained. "And I told him I knew about him and Lydia."

"Wow. When you told me you had something to tell me, this was _certainly_ not what I expected," he replied. "It went well then?"

She shook her head and looked down, the smile quickly replaced by something darker.

"Not at all," she replied. "It was…horrible. We'd never fought like that before." She reached for a nearby fur and wrapped it around her. "He said hurtful things. We both did, I think. But…everything came out. I told him about us…about what's happened between us. I told him that I didn't know if I should be with him after what I had done. But that…"

"What, lass?"

"That if he wanted me to stay, I would."

"Oh. What…what did he say?" He was nervous…uncertain if he wished to know. Ignorance, after all, was bliss.

She looked straight ahead, her shoulders relaxing. "He said that he couldn't do that. That it wasn't fair to either of us. He…he almost sounded relieved, Brynjolf. As if it was a release he was seeking as well. Given the worry he professed that he carried with him whenever I'm travelling, I think I understand why."

"So, what does this all mean?" he asked.

"You…you don't understand?"

"I just want to hear you say the words…"

"It's over, Brynjolf. Onmund and I are ending our marriage." She looked wistful, but more at peace with the way of things than he'd ever seen her.

Still…the question needed to be asked.

"Are you okay, Marieka?"

She pondered the question for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"Yes," she began, "I believe I _am_ okay. I didn't think it was what I wanted…but…we weren't meant to share our lives in that way. I don't think we were meant for being more than anything but very good friends. I'd truly hope to return to that one day. But…I'm not sure if that could ever be possible." She pulled at her hair, strands of it falling into her face. "He's returning to the College for study. I'm…happy for him for making that decision. Though I admit it makes me nervous. I will likely see him more often than might be a good idea."

He reached for her hand and held it in his. "You've always described him as a reasonable man. It would seem to me that you will both be able to find a way to coincide peacefully."

She nodded. "I think you're right."

"What will you do now?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

"Well, we'll go with Karliah to—"

"No," he interrupted, pulling her hand closer to him. "What will _you_ do?"

"I don't usually think too far ahead, Brynjolf," she replied.

"Gods, that's an understatement," he exclaimed. "But seriously, Marieka. You must have some thought of what you want to do now. Will you stay in Whiterun?"

She shook her head. "I can't seem to stay in one place for too long," she replied. "I'll keep the house, of course. It's good to have a comfortable place to rest your head after a long journey. But, I can't stay there very often. Not with…she's still going to be there. And just because I accepted Onmund's choice doesn't mean I want to be reminded of it." She took a large mouthful of mead, swallowing hard.

He eyed her carefully. The corner of her mouth twitched when she was nervous – he'd seen her that way enough to know. And her hair was not nearly long enough to hide behind, try as she might. There were still things that she hid from him.

When he didn't say anything, she attempted to continue. "With my nervousness of bringing Karliah back to the Guild…and everything that today brought, I…I haven't really had a chance to think about what this all means…for…for us."

He continued to look at her, reveling in her anxiety – ordinarily that should have sounded cruel, but his reasons were not of malice. She was nervous about something…and her reluctance to admit it to him was endearing.

"I've got all night to discuss this, lass," he said quietly, putting a hand on her knee. He smiled warmly at her and she reciprocated.

"Thank you, Brynjolf," she replied. "I have been more than on edge about this conversation for some time."

"Don't be," he said. "It's just me."

She shifted nervously, closing the gap between them a little more.

"Considering the short tenure of our time together," she began, "we've been through quite a lot. Wouldn't you say?"

He nodded. "The Guild can do that to people."

"Though, despite successfully facing so many trials thus far, I remain disappointed."

"Disappointed? Why are you disappointed?" Worry flashed on to his face briefly.

"I feel as though I don't know anything about you," she replied. "It's troubling."

"How so?" he asked.

"I shouldn't feel the way I…it just seems I should know more than I do. If we're going to…continue on, I mean," she said.

What was she about to admit to him? What did she really feel?

"Well, we can rectify that. I'm willing to submit to full interrogation," he replied.

A wicked smile crept on to her face. "Don't tempt me, Nord."

"Though it's hardly fair if you do not agree to provide me the same courtesy," he suggested.

"I wouldn't dream of not doing so," she replied.

The two sat together on the floor, wrapped in fur and the warmth of the fire, and talked for hours. The exchanged stories of the bits of childhood they could remember. Happy memories and sad alike. They spoke of the dreams they held on to as children – and what caused them to be brought down to reality. They talked about family and friends they had over the years of their lives.

They spoke on poverty and strife and war and death. And on hope.

Eventually she noticed the platter was empty, and cleared it and some empty bottles of mead away. When she returned to his side, he held his arm out toward her, inviting her closer. She curled up next to him as he stretched his legs out in front of him. They settled into a comfortable position where she lay on her back with her head on his lap as she looked up at him. He gently placed his hand on her stomach, brushing his fingers across it softly.

She sighed contentedly.

"We should have done that long ago," she said.

"Nonsense, lass," he replied. "We're not a conventional pair. We seem to be doing everything backwards."

"Are we a pair?" she asked.

"Something like that."

"What is it that we have, Brynjolf?" she asked. "I can't pin it down to definition."

"I'm not sure," he replied honestly. "Are you happy with it?"

She bit her lip. "I…I don't know."

"What would it take for you to be sure?" He looked down upon her, lacing his fingers through hers.

She didn't respond. She didn't know how.

"You told me you didn't need love from me," he said. "Are you reconsidering that declaration?"

She avoided his eyes as she searched for an answer.

"Brynjolf, I don't mean to be…indecisive. But…things change. _People_ change," she said.

"What do you want me to be?" he asked. "Say it. Say the word and I will be it."

He felt her rate of breathing increase. But she didn't speak.

"Marieka…where did he hurt you?"

"Who?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"Mercer. Karliah told me he tried to kill you. Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

She sighed, silently cursing the Dunmer. Reluctantly, she removed the belt from around her tunic and slid the hemline of it up, exposing her stomach to him. In the flickering light of the fire, he could see the raised bumps of a scar that stretched from her navel to her waist. His audible gasp was accompanied by him leaning forward to see more closely. His fingertips gently ran along the length of the scar, and she winced slightly.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," she replied. "Not anymore."

"By the gods, Marieka," he began. "How did you survive this?"

"Karliah…she had planned to use an arrow on Mercer the second he entered the cavern she waited for him in. It was tipped with a toxin she had developed…some sort of paralysis agent. When I came through the door first, she…used the arrow on me instead." She looked away from Brynjolf as she reflected on the memories. "She later explained to me that she couldn't risk fighting us both, which is what would have happened if she stayed. And she also believed that he brought me there to die anyway. To use as fodder and more proof of Karliah's so-called evil – he'd have blamed my death on her. So she chose to use the toxin on me, knowing that Mercer would attempt to kill me regardless. It slowed down the bleeding enough for her to pull me out of the Sanctum and save my life."

"Remind me to thank her for that when we next see her," he said. He continued to softly run his calloused fingers across the scar, subconsciously trying to tell her that it was okay. That he would be there to protect her. To _heal_ her.

"When she disappeared into the blackness of the cavern, he…I saw him approaching me. But, there was nothing I could do. The arrow had completely numbed me and my body didn't respond. I was _commanding_ it to get up. Demanding that I send some sort of magic at him to slow his approach. But nothing came."

He brought his free hand up to stroke her hair as she continued the story.

"I was aware of everything. I could see the look on his face. He…wanted blood. It was when he crouched in front of me, pulling out his blade…it was then that I…I thought of nothing but you. I've never been more terrified in my life, Brynjolf. I didn't think that I would ever see your face again," she fought to explain. "I…I realized that I'd made a mistake with you in that instant."

"You…made a mistake?" he repeated slowly, hurt spreading across his face.

"I told you I didn't want to bring feelings into this. That I couldn't give you love if that's what you wanted. But I was wrong, Brynjolf. There's nothing I want more in this world than to take what I said back."

Desperation flooded her expression. She breathed out heavily, as if relieved that she did not falter in her admission. It had taken everything in her to tell him how she felt. She sat up, pulling herself dreadfully close to him and gripped at his coat.

"I know you must think me naïve…immature as well. Perhaps that I am not as experienced at life as others you may have bedded. I don't know what someone like you would even want with someone like me. But I beg you…let me give myself to you…let me love you completely. I don't even care if you can't love me back. But please don't turn me away."

Her eyes were wild as Brynjolf looked into them. She had laid her soul bare before him and his only reaction was to laugh…to laugh deeper and louder than he ever had before. For she had no idea how his confession to her would be so extraordinarily similar. She pulled back from him, looking mortified at his reaction.

"Why…why do you laugh at me, Brynjolf?"

He calmed his boisterous mirth and shook his head with a smile. He pulled her back to him, forcing her head into the crook of his neck. His arms snaked behind her back and he kissed the top of her head.

"Marieka…you…you have no idea. You have absolutely no idea," he exclaimed.

"I don't understand," she protested.

"What could a beautiful young lass like you want with a washed up old thief like me?" he mused. "Everything you've said…all of your fears…your feelings…I've had them all. Every one of them. I've needed you for longer than even I knew. I didn't know how much I wanted to love you until Karliah told me of what Mercer did. And I refuse to let another opportunity pass…to risk not being able to tell you yet again."

He pulled back from her, placing his hands on her cheeks and looking her directly in the eye.

"I want to be at your side. I want to protect you. I'll never let anyone hurt you. I love you, Marieka."

He breathed deeply as he waited for her bewildered expression to change into something else. Her face finally softened.

"Say it again…"

His hand wandered up her face, running his fingers into her hair. He brought his lips to where they were barely touching hers – "I love you, Marieka..." – and then closed the gap.

They had kissed before. She had felt his lips all over her body. He made her feel like a goddess more than once. But this…this was different. This was real. There were no longer things to inhibit the full strength of a kiss fueled by love.

As their lips pressed together, she felt herself release – an explosion of infinite tingling as gooseflesh covered her body. He felt her yield to his touch and pulled her closer, allowing her to settle on to his lap, her legs finding their way around him. They pulled back to breathe and she brought her mouth to his ear.

"And I love you, Brynjolf. I intend not to ever stop."

He smiled and squeezed her tight. As he breathed in her scent, he felt comfort wash over him. She smelled like everything sweet in the world and now he knew she was his. Just as he was hers.

"You must have cast some sort of spell upon me, mage," he whispered, "for I intend the same."

"Oh Bryn." She pulled back and looked at him. "How could you ever think I wouldn't want you?"

"I could ask you the same, lass," he said. "I fought hard against these feelings, you know. I didn't think you wanted me to have them. I tried to push them aside, but I failed."

"Thank the gods persistence isn't one of your strengths!"

"Hey," he said, feigning hurt. "If I wasn't persistent, you'd never have come to the Guild in the first place."

"I'll give you that," she said with a smile. "So what happens now?"

"Now?" he repeated. "Now, I bring you into your bedchambers and love you properly. You probably have no idea just how much I missed you while you were away again."

"Oh, I might have some idea," she replied, but planned to allow him to show her anyway.

Tomorrow they would leave to hunt down the man that betrayed them. They would once again place themselves into harm's way for the greater good of the Guild. They would stand together.

But tonight…tonight they would let the world around them melt into the background as they loved each other more fully and completely than either had ever loved another. One night together was all they wanted…all they needed. He was happy. Truly happy. Not even the treachery of Mercer Frey could change that.

He couldn't wait for Mercer to discover that Marieka had survived his attempt on her life. He would take pleasure in seeing the man's face at that moment.

And she would help destroy him.

She would be his angel of vengeance.

_His beautiful love_.


End file.
